From Boys to Men
by Elven Heart993
Summary: "All men of and over the age of seventeen are required to fight in the War." The radio fell lifeless from Fred's limp hands...they were going to war... AU
1. Chapter 1

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter One**

_Ten million soldiers to the war have gone,  
>Who may never return again<em>

"Did you get it?"

The boy nodded eagerly, his hair, bright red, was sticking slightly to his pale and freckled face from the light rain. He wore slightly faded clothes, the dull colours also contrasting furiously with his hair. His coat was bulging peculiarly, poorly concealing the object hidden inside.

"I got it. Had to swipe it from old Mrs Wilde's window sill, but I got it."

The bulge in his coat jolted slightly as he jumped down onto the lower level of pavement where his companion waited. He withdrew the item, which now presented itself to be a small, dial in radio, and tossed it to his brother.

"Excellent." George grinned, turning it over in his fingers and settling himself down on an overturned packing crate, and crossing his legs comfortably.

They were at the docks, a great iron ship anchored firmly in the harbour, from a distance and close range it served as an intimidating shape. This had become a habit of the twins now. Every week or so they would 'borrow' a radio, go down to the docks and watch the activity there. That specific ship had been docked there for the past week.

"I wonder how Bill and Charlie are doing…they'd better be alright…" Their oldest brothers were already off fighting in the war. The only contact the family had with them was the occasional letter and even then it was always the same words. 'Missing home, love you Mum, we're alright, Charlie got shot in the arm…again…but he's fine.'

"They really get all the fun don't they?" Fred sighed, his eyes firmly fixed on the great boat before them.

George stared at him incredulously as though his twin had just sprouted a second head.  
>"Are you serious? You WANT to go to war?"<p>

Fred shrugged "Kind of I guess, it would be an experience."

"One you could lose your head in!"

His twin plucked the radio back out of George's hands and leant against George's crate. Resting the radio on his knees he began to tweak the switches, his tongue protruding slightly from the corner of his lips as he did so. They sat in silence for several minutes, the crackling of the radio and the like patter of the rain serving as the only sound to interrupt that.

"Ah ha!"

"…_an estimate of 308 British casualties thus far…"_

_Ten million mother's hearts must break  
>For the ones who died in vain<em>

"Hell…that's a fair few…" George swallowed slightly, the thought of war scared him but he wasn't about to admit that. Instead he focused his attention on a crate that had just toppled over, he was quite sure he could see guns in that crate.

"Oi, you still with me?"

George snapped his head back "You say something?"

"Yeah…" Fred rolled his eyes "I said that there will be more soon enough. Casualties."

"You're not wrong, mate…you don't think-"

"Nah. Not them…definitely not. Bill and Charlie will be fine." Fred forced a smile, he wasn't nearly as sure as he pretended to be.

"Charlie's just so damn accident prone though…every letter he's got a new injury."

The rain was getting steadily heavier but it didn't bother either of the twins in the least as they lapsed into silence again, with the exception of the radio crackling quietly. Fred broke the twins' silence this time.

"Kind of a scary thought though isn't it? All those people dying because of a bloody war."

George stared at him "You literally just said that you wanted to fight."

"I've had a change of heart in the past ten minutes. What of it?"

George scoffed and rolled his eyes "Shall we go?"

Fred said nothing, but switched of the radio and, using his twin's crate to support himself, got to his feet. He didn't wait for his brother and made directly for the stone steps that led up from the docks to the cobbled streets of London.

His twin, childishly, got to his feet on top of the crate and jumped, landing a foot away from Fred.

Upon ascending the steps they walked straight for several minutes, occasionally stepping in the odd puddle. Or rather intentionally pushing one another into them.

"On a lighter note…" Fred grinned, shaking water from his shoe and promptly stepping right into another puddle. "It's our birthday next week."

"Sure is! Seventeen at last."

_Head bowed down in sorrow in her lonely years,  
>I heard a mother murmur through her tears<em>

"Not sure why I'm so excited really…" George mused, tilting his head sideways.

"Me neither actually, doesn't it feel like something's gonna happen next week though? No idea what or course." Fred was walking backwards now, almost slipping several times.

"I know, it really does…watch it!"

Before Fred could stop himself he had walked right into someone. Turning around he blinked, muttering an apology.

"Sorry about that, mate…"

The man, clad in pale green and brown with an odd sort of utility belt strapped around his waist, was standing in front of him. He said nothing. His face was tired and worn and he looked much older than he probably was. A mess of dark sandy hair was plastered to his forehead, no doubt from the rain. Under his arm he carried a tin hat, on which Fred could see the name 'Moony' printed in thick black letters.  
>As he passed by the twin, George could have sworn he heard the soldier mutter. "Poor buggers."<p>

_I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier_

They waited until he was safely out of earshot before speaking.

"Did you see his face?"

"What, the scars? Yeah…looked pretty nasty didn't they?" George winced, glancing back over his shoulder for the man had prominent scars stretching across his face. Fading but every bit as visible as they had probably been when they were fresh.

Fred shook his head "No…well yes, but that's not what I meant. I mean his expression, his eyes looked really…I dunno, hard."

"Well, yeah, war would do that to you wouldn't it?" The twins may never have been to war but they were far from ignorant of what it could do.

They lapsed once again into silence; George had darted up onto the curb and was balancing precariously there.

He sighed "Quit being so glum, it ain't like you."

Fred scowled and playfully shoved his twin from his perch "I ain't bein' glum you bloody git!"

George threw back his head and laughed gleefully "There we go, that's better!"

_I brought him up to be my pride and joy_

"Think we should go home yet?"

"Yeah, probably." Fred blinked drops of rain from his eyelashes and continued, his pace slower. Neither of the twins making any effort to actually head in the direction of their home. He tossed the radio over in his hands and examined it.  
>"Do you think we could just keep it? Save us pinching another one next week."<p>

George shrugged "Alright but if Mrs Wilde catches you I'm saying it was all your fault and I had nothing to do with this."

"You're forgetting that we're twins. I can just say that I'm you and she'll never know the difference."

George snorted and lightly punched his brother's shoulder. "Fair enough."

They walked on, passing the occasional passer-by who braved the rain, finally ducking down an alley and against the wall under the overhanging ledge of a roof.

After a minute Fred slid down the wall into a seating position, balanced the radio on his knees and began the tedious attempt of tuning it in, his tongue protruding slightly from the corner or his lips as he concentrated.

"What are you expecting to hear on that?" George looked down at him.

_Who dares to put a musket on his shoulder_

Fred only shrugged and grunted, a moment later voices crackled into the air.

"…_ship due to depart one week from now from London. Also, due to a lack in enlistment numbers, to be enforced one week from now, a law is to be passed that all men of and over the age of seventeen are required to fight in the War. Any man failing to comply with this without an acceptable excuse will be charged a sum of two hundred and fifty pounds and be required to do his duty to his country." _

The radio slipped from Fred's fingers and the blood raging in his ears drowned out all sound as it struck the stones. A spark or two flew and the radio fell lifeless. Very stiffly Fred turned to George who was slipping slowly down the wall to his level.

Neither spoke, they just stared at each other, each of their expression's mirrored on the other's face. Both sets of identical blue eyes wide and incredulous and mouths open wide.

George's heart thundered thickly in his throat before slipping right down to his feet. He physically felt his face paling. They had to go to war…one week before turning seventeen and they would have to go to war the very next week…

"What timing…" Fred said thickly "What bloody, rotten timing…"

"We have no choice do we?" George muttered, blinking quickly, trying not to cry, he didn't want to seem childish. "Our family can't afford the fine and we'd have to go anyway."

_And shoot some other mother's darling boy_

"We should go…" Fred sighed and stood, still in a daze, offering his twin a hand.

George ignored it and pushed himself to his feet. "Mum will want us back for dinner I suppose…"

"Oh God…do you think she knows?"

xxxXxxx

As they reached the small gate, white paint fading and peeling off in places, a girl, her hair every bit as red as her brothers', darted out of the door to meet them. She glared as first Fred and then George made their way down the path, now almost entirely overgrown with weeds.

"You two took your time! We've been waiting for you for ages, dinner's already on the tab-hey what's wrong with you?"

They said nothing and brushed past her into the house, walking almost immediately into the small kitchen to be immediately jumped upon by their mother. She was a plump woman with a generally kind face and a temper like a dragon. Like the rest of the family her hair too was red and, like her only daughter, had brown eyes that were more often than not blazing.

_There'd be no war today,  
>If mothers all would say<em>

"Where HAVE YOU BEEN? YOU'RE SOAKING WET!"

Fred rolled his eyes "Calm down, it's raining! It's always raining!"

"I DON'T CARE YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN BACK AN HOUR AGO!" She sighed, trying her hardest to calm down, behind her thirteen year old daughter slipped calming into her seat. Completely unperturbed by the commotion, it was entirely normal.  
>"And Mrs Wilde called by…says her radio was missing! I ASSUME you know something about THAT?"<p>

George grunted and exchanged a look with his twin "Bit that for that. It's broke now."

Molly opened her mouth to shout some more before their father, a balding man who shared his sons' blue eyes, placed a hand on her shoulder.  
>"Molly dear, calm down, there's time for that later. Let the boys eat."<p>

She glared at him and her husband cringed back. She whirled back to the twins, barely noticing their unusually downcast expression.  
>"Oh…go and dry off and hurry up about it!"<p>

xxxXxxx

"Doesn't look like she knows, does it?" Fred sighed, tugging off his sopping shirt and tossing it aside. When his brother didn't reply he turned around. "Hey, you okay?"

George, perched on the edge of his bed and staring unseeingly at the floorboards, hurriedly wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He didn't want to seem childish.

"Are you crying, George? You never cry…"

"I ain't crying, you tosspot…" He muttered, looking away and trying not to sniff.

"Come on, mate." Fred slowly sat down next to him "What's wrong?"

George didn't reply at first, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check but when he did his voice was wavering.  
>"I don't think I want to turn seventeen anymore…Fred, I don't want to go to war…"<p>

"I know, mate…" Fred placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't either…but we'll get to see Bill and Charlie again…"

George sniffed again and ignored Fred. He got up and tugged off his own wet shirt in exchange for a dry cotton one.

"FRED! GEORGE! DINNER'S GETTING COLD! RONALD, YOU TOO!"

"Blimey…she's worse than the war…" Fred muttered, opening the door. "Coming?"

George nodded slowly "I'm fine."

xxxXxxx

"Thought we heard your dulcet tones, Mum." Fred arched his eyebrows, slipping into a seat.

"Here." She sighed, bustling around the table and pressing bowls of stew into the twins' hands.

It was a rather uneasy, almost tense silence, George still hadn't taken a seat and was standing staring down into the bowl. To the untrained eye he seemed perfectly fine. One had to be incredibly observant to see the slight tremble in George's fingers.

A smash and the bowl that had been in his hands only a second ago was lying in pieces on the floorboards of the kitchen. His siblings and parents jumped violently and his mother jolted up from the seat she had just settled into.

"George!"

He whimpered and stared at the shattered remains on the floor.

_I didn't raise my boy to be a solider_

His lips parted and, without really registering it, he allowed the words to slip through his lips.

"We're going to war…"

xxxXxxx

A moment later another red haired person entered the kitchen. The twins' younger brother, almost fifteen years old now, blinked at the scene.

"What did I miss?"

xxxXxxx

**Well, there you have it!**

**So I was looking through Potter fanfiction for some good AU ones, I mean AU in the sense of an ENTIRELY different universe, NON magical. I couldn't really find ANY. So I decided to write one myself revolving around the War. I really hope you guys like it because I have so many ideas for it and I'm pretty excited about it!**

**Tell me what you think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Two**

_ What victory can cheer a mother's heart?_

Molly Weasley had been subject to tears for a week now, or almost. One was hardly to blame her. It was the way she had been when her eldest boys had gone off to fight in the war. Any day now two more of her sons would be taken from her, having turned seventeen yesterday. If not for Percy's poor eyesight and his desperate need for glasses, he too, at nineteen years of age would have been forced to fight. It was rather scary to see the twins in such a way, to see them sitting around, not talking much and not causing any trouble. Occasionally one of them would crack a joke in an attempt to be themselves again. It was enough to make whoever was listening chuckle a little for a moment but that was about all.

"Mum?" Ginny poked her head into the sitting room where her mother was knitting quietly, emitting the occasional sob or hiccup. "Mum, someone's here. I think it's…"

She didn't need to finish her sentence. Molly knew exactly who she meant. They'd come hadn't they? To finally take her boys…

"Mum?"

"Yes, dear…I'm coming." Trying not to let her voice waver she slowly rose from the overstuffed armchair.

It was exactly as she had feared, two soldiers stood leaning against the doorframe, waiting patiently. One carried two bags that looked closer to sacks than what they actually were. A tin helmet sat loosely on his head, dark sandy hair visible beneath it. It was he who carried the bags. His companion had a noticeably different appearance. Dark and rather shaggy, messy hair was visible beneath his helmet one tuft falling neatly between his eyes. He was a little slouched, a different stature to that of his companion. On his helmet, in thick black letters, was printed the name 'Padfoot', obviously a nickname.

He spoke first "Morning. Sorry to…do this, apparently you have two sons here of or over the age of seventeen and fit enough for…national service? Is that right?"

Molly's throat was dry, terribly dry. She coughed slightly and nodded.

"Yes…I'm afraid they're out at the moment. Did you need them already?"

"Yes, ma'am, and you should be very proud of them. It's a great honour to serve one's country." The man with 'Moony' printed across his helmet smiled and held out the bags for her to take. "They are free to pack what they wish, your boys will be needed for inspection at the docks of London tonight at seven o'clock. We are due to leave tomorrow at midday."

_When she looks at her blighted home?_

She broke then, letting out a great sob and covering her face with her apron. One of the soldiers, she didn't know which, placed a hand on her shoulder. When he spoke, she knew by the tone it was 'Padfoot'.

"If it helps, we didn't volunteer for this duty. Orders are orders. I'm sorry…really."

She nodded slowly, dabbing at her eyes with her apron "I'll tell them…I will…"  
>Molly reached out a trembling hand to take the bags. They were heavier than she had expected and her hand dropped from the weight.<p>

Casting another look at the fourth mother they had upset that day, the two soldiers nodded once and made their way back up the thin path, making towards the old gate.

At that very moment, the two boys in question turned the corner, approaching just in time to see the two soldiers leave, recognising one as 'Moony', the soldier that Fred had walked into that fateful day a week ago.

No sooner had they slipped through the gate into the garden, casting a look over their shoulders at the intimidating figures, than their mother was upon them. The bags lay forgotten for the moment in the doorway.

"Oh my boys...you will be safe won't you? Freddie, Georgie…"

"Mum! Geroff!" Fred muttered, wriggling out of her grip. "What's going on?"

"Why were they here? It's not…" George trailed off, catching his breath and looking again over his shoulder.

"You're…" Molly sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand "To go for inspection at seven o'clock tonight. At the docks…"

They were silent for a moment, Fred focusing on the two bags on the ground behind their mother.

"Are they-"

"Yes, George…"

"I'm Fred." He muttered, staring at the bags and swallowing thickly, glancing at his brother.

Their mother sighed, finally composing herself "They told you to pack what you like…you leave tomorrow…"

George could feel himself paling considerably now. Tomorrow? That was awfully soon…and what was 'inspection' to entail? Nothing to be looked forward to by the sounds of it.

_What victory can bring her back,  
>All she cared to call her own?<em>

"Seven o'clock, hey? What time is it?" Fred asked, picking up the bag to examine it, screwing up his nose in distaste.

Molly suddenly righted herself and a sudden change came over her.  
>"Almost five I think…you'd best get ready soon. Wash, be sure you're presentable and get that mud off your pants!"<p>

The twins exchanged a look. They knew it was just her way of coping with their leaving so soon. It was not a front that was likely to fool many.

xxxXxxx

_Let each mother answer in the year to be,  
>Remember that my boy belongs to me!<em>

Not a moment after they had unceremoniously dropped the sack like bags to the floor in the room they shared, a very distinctive knock sounded on their door. It was undoubtedly their brother. Percival Weasley had a very distinct knock. He would always, no matter the door, tap once, pause and then tap twice more in rapid succession with the tips of his knuckles.

"What do you want?" They spoke in unison.

The person outside the door obviously took this as an invitation to enter the room as the door swung open. Sure enough, it revealed Percy.

He stood in the doorway awkwardly, Percy had never been particularly good at these sorts of things.  
>He cleared his throat and looked at the ground.<br>"Mother just told me…"

_I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier_

"Did she?" George muttered, picking up a book and tossing it over in his hands, he blinked suddenly and looked up at his elder brother. "Hey, why aren't you going?"

Percy shuffled his feet and tapped his glasses "My eyesight. If I were to lose my glasses…it's like Father, if his trick knee were to go…"

Fred snorted "Sure. Right…well won't you be lucky to get rid of us for a while?"

"Or for life…" George added cynically.

"No more teasing…"

"Or provoking…"

"Annoying…"

"Or losing your things."

Percy rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw "Would you just be quiet for a moment please? I am attempting to be nice…"

George dropped the book and blinked, exchanging a look with his twin. "What? Why, Perce, are you trying to say that you'll miss us?"

"Are you feeling alright?" Fred stared at him, for it was incredibly unlikely for Percy to show any kind of remorse or pity. Particularly not for the twins.

Percy sniffed "Not that I'll miss you. Just that I will….be concerned for your safety. After all you are my brothers. You will be safe, won't you? Don't do anything stupid."

"Yeah, Percy, I'm gonna go throw myself in front of a bullet intentionally." Fred smirked. Gleeful that Percy was actually displaying concern for them.

Percy sniffed "Fine then." And with that he turned on his heel and stalked back to his own room.

_I brought him up to be my pride and joy_

xxxXxxx

They glanced at each other, standing stationary atop the stone steps. There was a large shed type building that the twins could see lights on inside. They weren't alone, there were many others around them. Boys their age and above, a few older men here or there. They recognised a few of them, another boy their age they knew no further than his name, Cedric Diggory or something like that, and a boy Percy's age that they recognised as Oliver Wood, also a fairly good friend of theirs.

"Here goes nothing then…" Fred sighed, nudging his twin down the first few steps.

The wood of the pier creaked a little beneath their feet as they, along with ten others simultaneously, crossed to the shed. There were more men than they had expected inside, most of whom looking every bit as nervous as the twins felt. Though they would never admit it.

At the very back, almost against the wall three soldiers stood. Two of which the twins recognised as the soldiers who had come to collect them earlier that day. Their uniforms had been changed to grey green tunics with gold buttons up to the collar and the helmets had been replaced with caps, brown bands around the bases and a gold pin in the shape of the royal crown pinned to the front. These three were clearly captains or lieutenants of some ranking.

The soldier they knew as 'Moony' was noticeably more formal than the other two. The little hair visible had clearly been slicked back neatly and he stood with his back straight. The other two were slouched slightly, one had his hands in his pockets. Both had dark and rather messy hair that protruded from their caps in tangles and one had a small moustache, other than that all three were cleanly shaven. George vaguely noticed that one looked remarkably like an older version of Ron's friend, Harry.

_Who dares to put a musket on his shoulder  
>To shoot some other mother's darling boy<em>

The din around them was constant, and they soon found themselves alongside the Diggory boy. Oliver Wood too had spotted them and was weaving his way through the crowd.

"Rather nerve racking innit?" He muttered, heaving a sigh. "Didn't exactly sign up for this."

"Neither did we." They replied in unison.

"So what's supposed to happen now?" Fred arched an eyebrow.

"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" A loud roar sounded from the back, a voice that commanded silence.

The result was immediate and the crowd silenced quickly, parting to allow an intimidating figure to make his way through. He too was dressed in a captain's uniform complete with cap and walked heavily with a limp, each step thudding loudly on the wooden floor. His face was badly scarred but the most prominent feature was the black eye-patch over his left eye.

"Blimey…" Fred muttered as the man approached the front of the room in front of the other three soldiers.

_Let nations arbitrate their future troubles,  
>It's time to lay the sword and gun away<em>

He kicked a crate over with his good leg and, after a moment, managed to stand on it. Every fibre of his being commanding respect.

"Now…" He growled, casting a critical eye over the turnout "You're a rather sorry bunch aren't ya? Could be worse I suppose…my name is Colonel Alastor Moody, you will address me as Colonel Moody, or Sir and nothing else. Is that clear?" There was silence, a few people looked at each other. "I SAID IS THAT CLEAR?"

A hurried scatter of "Yes, sir!" rushed through the crowd.

Moody growled "You will answer me with 'Sir, yes, sir' unless instructed otherwise-PADFOOT, PRONGS, STRAIGHTEN UP AND FIX YOUR BLOODY HAIR!"

The two slouching soldiers jumped and hastened to straighten up. Only then did the very alarmed crowd realise that the pair in question were behind the Colonel and that Moody hadn't turned around once.

"Blimey…" Fred muttered, leaning to whisper quietly to George "The old codger can see out the back of his head…"

"AND HEAR ACROSS SHEDS!" Moody roared glaring directly at the twins "I'm warning you, boy!"

That effectively shut Fred up, a feat that not many people were capable of doing, and, wide eyed, he heaved a tense sigh.

"Right…" his tone every bit as gruff and harsh, the soldier nodded slowly to himself. "Alright…you all know you're shipping out tomorrow. But there's a hell of a lot to get done tonight. First of all…" here he turned and nodded to the soldiers behind him, who, the twins now noticed, were each standing beside a large sack, each bearing something of different shape. "Go and get your uniforms."

Slowly the crowd, unsure of what to do started to murmur amongst themselves. A man near the front was the first to piece it together and strode confidently to Moony, Padfoot and Prongs all in turn.

_There'd be no war today,  
>If mothers all would say<em>

George blinked and tried not to stare at the scars on the man's face, a folded pile was pressed into his hands and Moony nodded at him. The second, whom he assumed to be Prongs grinned at him and handed him a metal helmet and the third, the most unkempt of the three, Padfoot, handed him a round flask and a rather heavy utility belt, several pouches and pockets hanging from it. The moustached man winked and him and gave a wolfish grin before handing Fred his gear.

_I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier_

xxxXxxx

**I know the ending is odd but this chapter was originally longer but I got past this point and I realised that I had yet to put in a good deal of what I had planned and it was too long so I had to split it.**

**Oh, and the song through both this and the first chapter is 'I Didn't Raise My Boy to be a Soldier' it's a song from the First World War, in 1915.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ummm, just wanna you guys straight on a few matters first. Many of you are under the impression that Harry's gonna pop up, well he's not. He'd only be fourteen or fifteen at this point in time and the minimum age was seventeen. This fanfiction is predominantly war centric. I might occasionally flick back to the rest of the family but Harry will not appear. Oh, and it's World War 1 by the way.**

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Three**

It took some time to get the uniforms through the one hundred odd recruits present and Fred did not keep his distaste of the uniform a secret.

"Bloody boring, that's what it is!" He complained loudly to anyone listening at the time. Oliver Wood just chuckled slightly at him and shook his head.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! LISTEN! Second, and I'll be blunt, there is little privacy in the army." We need to make sure you're fit enough, so strip down to your underwear." Nobody moved and Moody snarled threateningly, glaring around at all. "NOW!"

George scrunched up his nose, still examining his uniform. "You haven't got anything a bit more sporting have you?"

"Yeah, I don't really fancy this colour." Fred nodded in agreement with his twin.

Moody's eye was on the red headed twins in a moment and he narrowed it, stepping down off the crate with some difficulty. Most of the crowd lapsed into silence, some in the process of removing a coat or a shirt, as he limped through the crowd toward them. Firmly he knocked the uniform out of George's hands and leered over them threateningly. Each individual scar visible and his eye patch more imposing than ever.

"You don't fancy the colour?" He smirked "Well fancy this, you're going to WAR not to a WEDDING, now shut it and strip!"

He growled and limped heavily back to the crate, standing in front of it this time.  
>"You're all men! Hurry it up!"<p>

His orders were eventually obeyed, albeit with a lot of awkwardness, leaving all recruits shivering and embarrassed in their underwear.

"Line up, you'll be inspected one by one, and sent to dress in your uniforms."

As soon as the talking started up again, George nudged Fred and grinned "Hey, he should only have to inspect one of us, right?"

His brother laughed "Hey yeah! Let's give it a try."

Intentionally they separated, George running a hand through his hair quickly to ensure it was identical to the way his twin's was currently standing.

It was nothing short of awkward, standing in a line, virtually naked with ninety-nine other blokes, waiting to be inspected by a man who growled every second word. Even the twins, who had very little shame, were self-conscious about this. Unwillingly, Fred found himself staring at a rather unsightly mole on the back of the man in front of him who was a good ten years older than he was. Cedric was a few people in front of him, regrettably he was near the front.

It didn't look like a particularly comfortable ordeal. Moody cast a glance up and down each recruit critically. He would examine even the jaw of each man, in a manner rather akin to the way one would examine a dog.

Each man ahead of Fred received a nod, and was pushed to the side to dress. He winced as he stepped the head of the line. Moody's jaw was set, his one good eye darting over his victim mercilessly. Fred winced slightly as Moody took his jaw and turned his face, uttering a grunt of approval. He just had to grit his teeth and bare it.

The Corporal's hands were cold as he squeezed Fred's shoulder and turned him slightly. He prodded at his ribs, no doubt checking how skinny Fred was and tapped his chest. It was not the most pleasant sensation. Eventually he received a nod of approval.

"Go get dressed." Moody grunted, shoving Fred to the side.

The Weasley rolled his eyes, gathering his uniform back up and, with a sly look back at his twin in the line, made sure to go behind Moody to dress.

George smirked and allowed a few people behind him to go ahead until he was directly behind a man he could fully hide behind. When at last he did reach the head of the line he elicited exactly the response he wanted.

Moody did a double take, glancing quickly up and down. "I just told you to go get dressed, boy!"

"No you didn't." George said truthfully, trying not to laugh and give it away.

"Are you disobeying orders?" Moody leered "GET OUT OF LINE!"

"I'm not disobeying anything…sir. You didn't tell me-"

The soldier glared, rather frightfully considering he only had one eye "I'm warning you now, boy…this behaviour will not be tolerated!"

"You told him…." George grinned, motioning behind Moody to where Fred had doubled over, half dressed in the plain uniform. "You didn't tell me."

Moody looked for all the world like he had just been slapped across the face and was trying his very hardest not to hit the boy in front of him. He eventually settled for pressing a hand to his face in exasperation. These two would prove very difficult to control. With that he, perhaps more roughly than before, examined the twin, quickly realised there was little point and pushed him, definitely more roughly, from the line.

"Brilliant!" Fred grinned, trying to control himself. To his great delight someone behind him let out a great bark like laugh, someone it was discovered to be Padfoot, the one they guessed to be Prongs had a hand over his mouth to stifle his own chuckles. The pair of them earned a vicious glare from the Corporal and a slightly amused expression from Moony.

The uniforms fitted surprisingly well, whilst still remaining loose and clashed terribly with the redness that was Weasley hair. After a tedious time of waiting for everyone to dress, George cast a woeful look around the room.

"Everyone looks so…similar."

And it was true, one hundred odd recruits, all dressed the same, many with similar hair colour so you could barely tell one person from another. It was rather belittling to be perfectly honest. Nothing short of conformity, something for which the twins had very little regard.

"Right!" Moody shouted, climbing back onto the crate and again the crowd lapsed into silence.

"Right you lot! You're expected to keep your hair accordingly, not to follow the example of SOME officers!" He growled, referring pointedly to Padfoot and Prongs. "And so…" From one of the pockets of his uniform he suddenly produced a pair of barber's scissors "I believe you're familiar with this particular tool?" Moody smiled then, it was a rather terrifying thing to see, almost sadistic.

"Now none of THAT!" He roared, silencing the few mutters of protest "You should be proud to serve your country, and so to look the part!" Slowly they quietened but not all faces were that of excitement.

"Now then…this promises to take some time by the looks of some of you. Pick an officer now."

"What? THEY'RE going to cut our hair?" Someone cried, a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties with blonde hair a little longer than average.

"SHUT IT!" The Colonel roared "They ain't gonna scalp you. Just…give you a little trim is all."

Fred and George exchanged a glance. Their hair wasn't exactly long, no, but it tickled the nape of their necks at the back, they, unlike Oliver Wood, would not get away untrimmed.

"What? I don't want to look the same as him!" George pouted, nudging his brother, the glare of Moody was back on them in an instant. The look he gave them was one that clearly said 'You're bloody twins…'

Several others had turned their heads, including Fred to stare at him.  
>"Umm…George?"<p>

"Oh shut it, I know!"

xxxXxxx

The crate was far from comfortable and Fred couldn't help but fidget left and right trying to get comfortable. He was mercifully glad that it was Moony behind him, the poor guy to his right looked positively terrified to have Moody behind him, a pair of scissors against the back of his neck.

He hated this. Hated having to wear the same clothes and carry the same things and have his hair cut the same as everyone else. If there was one thing that the twins prided themselves on it was being identical individuals. Now they would simply be identical to everyone.

The metal of the scissors was cold on his neck, one half of the open blades tucked beneath the hair that tickled the nape of his neck. The scissors made a soft snipping sound and he imagined he could hear the sound of his hair hitting the boards. He scrunched up his nose as the scissors snipped again, trimming his hair to barely below his ears.

"There, that wasn't so difficult was it?" Moony half smiled standing back.

Fred grimaced, very thankful there was no mirror to look into.

"You're expected to keep your hair neat…so I wouldn't take an example from Padfoot or Prongs" Moony smirked, moving onto the next.

Fred's hair had been parted and combed over, lying almost flat on his head, fortunately George had been trimmed simultaneously and was looking less than impressed at the situation. His hand was twitching slightly and Fred could tell George was itching to ruffle his hair and mess it up again.

He grumbled "This is bloody ridiculous is what it is..." he muttered, bending down to tie his boot.

"I know…" George sighed, glancing at Cedric who was mournfully running a hand over his head. "We look the same as him almost."

"Stop your whining! It's only hair!" Moody shouted, effectively silencing the majority of the complainers.

"Right. Now get used to this, it'll happen again. LINE UP!" He roared, making doubly sure he was heard clearly.

They did so obediently, no desire to cause any trouble with Moody.

"STOMACH IN! BACK STRAIGHT! CHEST OUT!"

Silently, starting at one end he grunted and limped down the line, his eye darting over each 'solider' in turn. Occasionally he paused to look closer at one or another. Snapping instructions, everything from 'Flatten your hair' to 'tuck in your shirt'.

"SHAPE UP YOU SORRY LOT! You're soldiers now! SO LOOK THE PART!"

He paused in front of Oliver Wood, a few places away from the twins. The man in question had drawn himself up as best he could, little beads of sweat visible on his forehead.

Eventually the Colonel grunted and limped on, evidently finding nothing to complain about. He stopped again in front of the twins and jabbed George in the chest.  
>"Shoulders back!"<p>

He pulled them back, his chest pushing forward naturally. Moody growled and glared at the pair of them for good measure before continuing to limp his way along the line.

"Alright…" He nodded firmly, back on his crate now. The scars across his face stretched as he spoke. "Good enough. Some of you will have to look a little better. But some of you are just completely unfortunate looking anyway." He gave a short of low, raspy sound that many supposed was supposed to be a snicker.

"One more thing…all of yeh will be sorted into platoons of twenty. They are as follows, Platoon Griffon, Platoon Raven, Platoon Badger, Platoon Snake and Platoon Phoenix. Right…" He withdrew several sheets of folded paper from the interior of his jacket. "Platoon Badger will be as follows and in no particular order. If I call your name stand over beside Prongs…" he cleared his throat thickly "Hopkins, Wayne…" A man in his mid-twenties moved over nervously to stand near Prongs.

"Thomas, Gary."

And on it went until… "Diggory, Cedric."

Cedric, not far from the twins, jumped violently and, sparing a glance at them went to join his platoon members.

"Now, Badgers, Prongs will not be your platoon leader. Platoon Badger will be led by…" Moody paused, looking at Cedric for a moment "Captain Amos Diggory."

The boy blinked in surprise. His own father? What luck!

Fred arched an eyebrow at George who smirked "Fancy that…"

He barely registered that Moody was speaking again and that twenty more people had already left the group "Phoenix, to be led by Padfoot…."

"Platoon Snake…Flint, Marcus…" A boy of seventeen with an overbite.

"Pucey, Adrian….Higgs, Terrence….Bole, Lucian…"

"Platoon Griffon."

"Must be getting close, ey?" Oliver leaned over to mutter to the twins as a 'Stephen Cornfoot' was the first to be called.

And on the names went until "Weasley, Fred."

Fred jumped and glanced at his twin "You'd better be in the same one, you hear?"

George half smiled and shoved his brother in Moony's direction.

"Wood, Oliver…" and then finally, to Fred's immense relief "Weasley, George."

It didn't matter now, they were in the same platoon, they had Moony, whose real name they now knew was Remus Lupin, as their Captain and they had several boys they knew with them, like Oliver. They would be alright. The overwhelming fear of both the twins was that they would be split up and so far that hadn't happened.

The left over soldiers made up Platoon Raven, the last of which to be called was a Roger Davies.

They were told to leave then, to go home and get a good rest. After a less than inspiring pep talk from the grumpy Colonel saying that it was a great honour to go to war and serve their country.

Fred sighed as he squeezed between two others to get out of the shed and onto the pier. His helmet and the clothes he had been wearing before the uniform tucked under his arm.

"God…we're leaving tomorrow…"

George nodded slowly "I know…it hardly seems real does it?" He stared straight ahead at the wood beneath his feet and then the stones as they stepped off the pier. He would not allow his emotions to get the better of him again. He could imagine their mother's face when they walked through the door. In dull green uniforms, carrying helmets, their hair trimmed and slicked back. He barely felt like himself anymore and though Fred gave nothing away, he knew Fred felt the same. The only consolation was that they were going together.


	4. Chapter 4

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Four**

The twins found themselves walking with Cedric on the way home, barely registering the cold chill in the air. Everyone had dispersed now, going their separate ways to their separate homes for what was possibly the last night they would ever spend there.

Cedric was talking constantly about the same subject he had been talking about since they had left.

"…my father! Of all the luck, I'll see him again far sooner than I thought. Won't he be surprised to see me?"

"Yeah, sure Ced…" Fred muttered, not listening at all. He exchanged a sideways glance with his brother. Even in the dark seeing the same exasperation mirrored on George's face.

It had to be at least after nine by now, there was no one out on the streets except for the occasional policeman who glanced their way.

"I wonder if we'll even see Bill and Charlie…they'll already be in platoons of course."

"We gotta see them at least once, surely...God it's so soon…"

Fred glanced back at George, waving a quick goodbye to Cedric who was turning the other way as they reached their front gate.

"What's the bet that Mum's made us something?"

There were still lights on inside, which they supposed wasn't so unusual, but did guarantee that their mother, and probably Percy, were still awake.

George turned the handle, the door had been left unlocked for them but he hesitated, frozen with his left hand on the handle. Slowly he lifted a hand to his hair and exchanged a look with his brother before pushing the door open and stepping into the house.

There was no one in the kitchen when they entered and Fred closed the door softly. A moment later the familiar sound of their mother's bustling feet sounded from the living room, only a few yards away.

The moment she entered into eyesight of the twins she paused, a few metres from them. She hardly dared to believe the sight before her, their hair was trimmed, parted and slicked down giving a very different impression than it had done. Never before had she seen the twins in such a way. Certainly they dressed alike often…but this? Perhaps, and more than likely, it was to do with their shortened hair, but the pair of them looked older now. The matching green uniforms seemed to emphasize their, already tall, stature. They didn't look at all like her boys, her twins, anymore, they looked like soldiers now. Like men.  
>George was looking at the ground, Fred half smiled, fiddling with his belt absentmindedly. Both of them had a helmet tucked under one arm, the clothes they had been wearing when they left in a pile on the table.<p>

"Oh my boys…" Molly sighed, crossing the gap and pulling first George and then Fred into a hug. "Look at you…you're so-"

"Boring?"

"Plain?"

"Hideous?"

Even Molly couldn't help but laugh a little "…Grown-up."

"The Colonel was nothing but a grump…not exactly pleasant looking either…"

"Only had one eye."

"We're in the same platoon, Mum. Griffon I think."

Fred's smile faded slowly, giving up on trying to make light of the situation. He put a hand on the back of the chair George had slipped into. He felt overly tired, unusually so.

Molly stroked George's hair fondly, trying not to dwell on the thought that it might be the last night her twins ever spent there.

"A cup of tea, boys? You must be positively freezing…"

Fred shook his head "Nah. I think I'm just going to go to bed, thanks, Mum…"

"Alright, sweetheart…George?"

George glanced at his brother who had paused in the doorway behind their mother and was looking at him pointedly.

"No thanks…I'm...just going to bed too." He smiled quickly, getting up from the chair and picking up his clothes. "Night, Mum…"

xxxXxxx

"Alright what's up?" George sighed, entering their room behind Fred.

"Shut the door would you!" He hissed, tossing his own bundle of clothes onto his bed, in the process of shoving his pillow beneath the blankets. "I gotta go."

George closed the door and blinked, not understanding "Come again?"

Fred shrugged tossing his helmet to the floor where it clattered loudly. "I mean just that. I gotta go see Angelina."

His brother stared at him "Are you barmy? What if Mum catches you? She ain't gonna be too happy."

"George, we leave tomorrow, I haven't even told her that we're going to war at all yet. I have to say goodbye. Just…don't give me away." He opened the small window between the twin single beds. It was just big enough for him to fit through. "I'll be quick as I can."

Before George could say anything else, Fred had slithered less than gracefully through the window and landed with a thud onto the ground.

xxxXxxx

"Oi, Angelina!" Fred hissed, tossing a pebble at the window of the room he knew was Angelina's. It struck with a soft _tick_ and bounced off. It took two more pebbles before the window finally opened, revealing the half annoyed and half amused face of Fred's on again off again girlfriend.

"What are you doing?" She hissed and squinted "Your hair is different."

"Just come out."

"No!"

Fred sighed and crossed the short distance to the window "Fine. I'll come in then." And before Angelina could stop him he'd grabbed hold of the windowsill and pulled himself half inside, rolling the last bit onto the floor.

"Fred, get out!" The effect was lost by her grin as she quickly pulled on a robe over her nightgown. "That's hardly decent."

"Do I look like I care?" He grunted and they dropped into silence, both listening keenly for any hint of sound from the other occupants of the house. When none came he felt it safe to continue.

They spoke in unison, Angelina with a question and Fred with the answer to it.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm going to war."

An awkward silence froze the situation again. Finally Angelina broke it.

"You're what?"

Fred cleared his throat and leant back against the wall. "George and I. Now that we've turned seventeen, we're going to the War. Hence the…" He gestured grandly at his appearance.

"Oh my…" Angelina straightened up slightly, not sure what to say to that. "Well…okay. Good luck…"

"That's all you can say? Good luck?" Fred arched an eyebrow and scoffed "Thanks for your concern."

"I'm not sure WHAT to say, Fred. It's just a little hard to swallow, you going to war-"

"Don't bite your arm off about it. It's not that big a deal." He shrugged, trying to act braver than he was feeling about it "It's an adventure." He added, plastering on a grin.

"Not that big a deal?" She gaped "Fred, war is a serious thing. Don't take it lightly."

"Better than being depressed about it." He defended.

Angelina was not impressed it seemed "It's not a joke! You might not come back from it!"

Fred looked up then and snorted "Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm going alright. Oh, and we're leaving tomorrow." He made back toward the window. This visit was not going how he had hoped.

Behind him Angelina scoffed "Why? I don't suppose you'll miss me anyway."

Fred froze, one foot on the window sill "What? That's absurd."

"Well you won't. You show me about as much affection as you do to every other girl that you pass in the street."

He turned then and sighed "What is that supposed to mean?"

She didn't reply for several moments but crossed the room to him, her arms folded across her chest.  
>"It means I hope you don't expect me to wait for you."<p>

Fred almost fell out of the window in surprise. Pulling his leg back in he stared at her. "What?"

"Fred. I just don't want to be…tied down waiting for you."

"TIED DOWN?" He shouted, completely forgetting where he was only to be hushed hurriedly.

"Don't-"

"Don't what? Overreact? How did you expect me to react? Bloody hell, you pretty much just told me that you were going to cheat on me when I left!" He lowered his voice to a loud hiss.

Angelina glared at him "No, I'm not saying I'll cheat on you I'm saying that I want out, Fred."

In a moment Fred had, determinedly, swooped forward and kissed her. She pushed him off and glared at him, bringing a hand up to slap the Weasley.

"Get away from me."

"Fine…" He squared his jaw, glowering darkly at her "Have it your bloody way. I don't even care anymore." He stepped again onto the windowsill. "Oh, and if I don't come back…glad to know you cared."

He jumped, bending his knees as he landed on the pavement to lessen the shock to his ankles. He glanced back up in time to see her closing the windows perhaps more forcefully than was wise.

"Good riddance…" He muttered to himself, hunching his shoulders in his uniform against the cold as he strode, fuming, back.

xxxXxxx

George blinked, jerking out of his semi unconscious state at a constant tapping on the window. He grumbled, Fred was back and George had a good mind not to let him in. Sighing, he swung out of bed and leant against the glass, arching an eyebrow at his twin.

Fred looked less than impressed. In fact he looked downright grumpy and not in the mood to be kept waiting.

George rolled his eyes and flicked the catch to open the window. "What happened?"

"I shouldn't have gone there at all." He grumbled, unstrapping the utility belt and letting it fall with a thud to the floor. Only then realising he had better not wake his parents.

"Whoa…what did you do?"

Fred rounded on George and glared "Why did you assume it was me?"

"Because it usually is." George arched an eyebrow, a half smirk stretching over his face. It faded at the look on Fred's face. "Alright, I'll bite. What did she do?"

"Didn't care at all that we were going to war, is what. Accused me of 'taking it too lightly' but then whirls right around and turns it all on me." He muttered, very bitterly, dropping only his bed and jumping straight up. "Ouch! Bloody-" he muttered, pulling his helmet out from under him.

George sighed and closed the window, dropping down on the edge of Fred's bed. "What do you mean she turned it on you?"

"Can we just drop it please? It's over, whether I come back or not, it's over." Fred's voice had dropped considerably and he rolled over into the pillow. "Bet she doesn't even come to see us off."

George looked at him "Sorry…"

"Don't be bloody sorry! I'm glad of it!" Fred voice was horribly muffled by the pillow, but it was still easy for George to tell his brother was more upset than he let on.

"If you say so…"

They sat in silence, George still perched on the edge of Fred's bed and Fred giving off every impression that he was trying to suffocate himself in the pillow.

"This could be the last night we ever spend here…"Said the muffled voice, finally rolling over. His face pink from the lack of air.

"Let's hope it's not, ey?" George smiled very half-heartedly.

"I don't want to go…"

"God, Fred? Are you afraid? That ain't like you."

Fred sat up and glared at him, pushing George onto the floor. "Shut up, I'm not afraid."

George sighed, pulling himself into a seating position and crossing his legs. He looked down and they sat in silence.

"I am…"

Fred, who had been staring unseeingly at the blankets, looked down at his brother "What?"

"I'm kinda afraid." George flushed, examining his hands with apparently rapt interest. "I really don't want to…you know…"

"Die? Hell I don't either. Course I don't, but we don't have a choice. We leave within a day."

"There's a pretty high chance of it happening though. The amount of trouble we get in…"

Fred sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed and put a hand on George's shoulder. "So we just actually bother to be careful then. Look, George…I'm scared too. We'll be in France tomorrow and be fighting within a week…" He stopped talking and blinked "Why am I being the reasonable one. You're supposed to be the one with half a conscience."

George glared at him. "You know it wouldn't hurt for us to take something seriously for once in our lives."

"Bloody hell you sound like Angelina. We'll be fine, mate. If Bill and Charlie can survive and still be alright, we can too." Fred grinned "Now stop your moaning. I'm tired and I actually want to get SOME sleep."

The younger of the twins half smirked. A gesture that was mainly to reassure his brother. He got up slowly and dropped back onto his own bed. Letting the last decent sleep he would have for quite some time take him.


	5. Chapter 5

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Five**

"I can't believe you're going…it's going to be so-"

"Quiet?"

"Peaceful?"

"Nice?"

Ginny grinned at her twin brothers "Boring. It's going to be really boring without you two here causing trouble."

The family lapsed again into silence until Fred finally slammed his fist down upon the table.  
>"Would you lot please cheer up? We're not going forever!"<p>

It was a very gloomy meal certainly, the last meal either of the twins would have in their home for quite a while. They had taken an early lunch, both Percy and Mr Weasley taking the day off their respective work. Percy with his poor eyesight, and Arthur with his trick knee meant that neither of them were required to fight. Even Ron was eating more politely than was normal. And until Ginny, none of the family had spoken.

The twins had dressed in their uniforms, Molly having spent a good amount of time fixing their hair and flattening it. Beside the door their bags and helmets lay in preparation for their departure. One hour from now the great ship, named _The Nimbus, _would leave port, carrying with her new recruits to France.

"Of course you're not!" Molly chirped, in an attempt to be cheerful, despite everyone having witnessed her sniffing frequently that morning.  
>"You'll give our love to your brothers won't you? Oh! Before I forget…" And suddenly she was out of her seat and bustling into the living room, the rest of her family blinking in surprise after her.<p>

"Here…" She returned with two piles of wool in arm. Pressing them into the twins' arms the revealed themselves to be knitted jumpers. Made of the same crimson wool, one emblazoned with a gold G and the other with a gold F.

Fred and George respectively switched them and George attempted a real smile.  
>"Thanks, Mum…"<p>

"Of course, dear…I'll miss you both so very much."

"We'd best be going to the docks now." Arthur spoke up from the other side of the table, consulting a watch. "If we all mean to see you off."

xxxXxxx

The ship looked larger now than it had the previous days and weeks. A far more imposing shape representing the sheer reality of what the new soldiers were about to embark upon. Many workers scuttled about, loading more crates onto the ship up the large gangplank. A colourfully garbed brass band played "God Save the King" over the crowd. The Union Jack flew proudly where it would not fail to be noticed. The scene was altogether joyous, undoubtedly meant to instil a feeling of patriotism in the soldiers.

There were many people, the recruits themselves and their families, already gathered. Alongside the boat, the Captains, including several the twins did not recognise, stood, the most intimidating figure of Colonel Alastor Moody in the centre of them.

"I think we're supposed to go over there. Guess this is…well yeah."

Molly let out an almighty sob and threw her arms around first Fred and then George. Effectively strangling them each in turn and making George drop his bag.

"You'll be safe won't you? And be sure to write and give our love to your brothers! Make sure they write!"

"Geroff, Mum!"

Ginny's reaction was much the same as her mother's, throwing her arms around each of them in a fierce hug. Even Ron and Percy looked quite dismayed at the bidding of farewells.

"Sa'll right, we'll be back…" George forced a smile, slinging his bag over his shoulder and catching sight of Oliver saying goodbye to his parents.

With a last, affectionate nod at their family, the twins glanced quickly at each other and slowly, with few looks back, headed toward their Captain.

They were instructed to line up, in the same manner they had the previous night and in three rows. Moody again limped heavily down each line, prodding people in the gut if they stood incorrectly. The twins, this time, passed inspection and received a grunt of approval.

"Straighten up, soldier!" He grunted, tapping a man a few people away from the twins.

Said soldier nodded and did as he was told quickly "Aye, aye, sir!"

Fred snickered slightly and nudged his brother "But just one "eye" will do, eh?"

Moody turned around slowly in all his eyepatched glory and glared menacingly.  
>"That. Is. Not. Funny!"<p>

Fred couldn't help his eyes darting through the mass of people gathered to bid the soldiers farewell, searching in vain for Angelina's face. He supposed he shouldn't have expected her to come. Though, and perhaps it was his pride that made him think this, he had half expected her to come, to beg his forgiveness before he went to risk his life in the War. He wouldn't have taken her back, at least he didn't think that he would have.

The time had come now, to board the ship. Rather like sheep they were ushered up the gangplank onto the deck of the _Nimbus_. Every man was in the same condition, pretending not to hear the 'goodbyes' and the sounds of women sniffling. Quite a few of the soldiers were crying themselves.

It was when almost everyone had boarded that the commotion arose. A man, short and stubby had suddenly let out a wail and was trying to tear his way back to the gangplank in a desperate attempt to get off the boat. He pushed past the twins, dropping his helmet as he shoved past Fred. As two Captains, Prongs and Padfoot lunged at the desperate soldier and dragged him back from escape, Fred picked up the helmet. On the metal a name was printed in thick black letters, a name that Fred deemed quite fitting for that particular soldier.  
>'Wormtail'.<p>

xxxXxxx

It might have been the previous display of outward terror from 'Wormtail' that had done it, but barely a man spoke for the first half hour or so of the journey. But the moment conversation started, it spread like a wildfire and infected the rest of the troops. Even the Captains looked incredibly relaxed, with the obvious exception of Moody. Padfoot's laugh in particular could easily, and frequently, be heard over the hum of chatter even from the other side of the ship.

They had been debriefed about what was to happen. One week from then, on the first of July, the British and French allies were to launch an offensive move in an attempt to break the ranks of the German troops. The newly formed platoons were intended to aid the fight in this offensive move. Alongside thousands upon thousands of others.

Now the long few hours it would take to cross the English Channel had begun, and they were truly on their way to another country, to another life entirely. The mood over the ship varied from amused to sombre. More than once Fred spotted a man, generally one of the seventeen year olds, crying silently to themself. He also didn't fail to notice the picture that, a matter of feet away, Remus was constantly withdrawing from his pocket.

He and George were leaning against the rail, the latter looking slightly green.

"You're not sea-sick are you?"

George looked at him "Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

They lapsed again into silence, looking down the great iron side of the _Nimbus_ to the waves lapping the ship as it ploughed through the water.

"She didn't come…"

George looked over at his twin who was still staring at the foamy water. "Angelina?"

"I shouldn't have expected that she would. But still..."

George chuckled weakly "Yeah…oh well. Put her out of your mind, eh?"

"That won't be too hard." Fred paused for a moment "There, done."

George laughed, elbowing his brother playfully. It was good to smile and laugh again.

"Excited?" The twins looked up at the familiar accent. Oliver stood in front of them, looking particularly lanky in the unflattering uniform.

George shrugged and replied in a voice laced heavily with sarcasm "Yeah, sure, let's go with that."

"Neither am I, can I join you?"

"No one's stopping you, mate."

Oliver smiled and leant with his back against the railing. "One week, huh? What do you suppose it'll be like?"

"Not sure I really wanna think about it that much to be perfectly honest. We'll see soon enough won't we?" George grunted, clenching his eyes shut and fighting the urge to moan as the ship gave a slight and unexpected lurch.

"I meant where we're expected to stay. To sleep and such." Oliver looked at him peculiarly.

"From Bill and Charlie's letters I wouldn't be expecting a palace." Fred smirked. "Ah well, might as well make the best of it. Whoa…" He looked rather alarmingly at George "You are _really _green…" He lightly pushed his brother to the side "Stand over there."

George glared at him and dropped his head onto his arms on the railing, feeling as though he would puke at any moment.

A sudden cry of what seemed to be outrage commanded the attention of most of the ship, everyone on alert. The to-do proved to be nothing more than one of the men from Platoon Snake shouting. A group of men had begun a game of cards, the loser apparently sulking now.

xxxXxxx

After an hour had passed on the ocean, George still awaiting the inevitable sea sickness, the Captains weaved themselves among the troops, presumably specifically searching for their own troops. Among them was a captain neither of the twins had seen before, a blonde man with a permanent expression on his face that gave the impression he was constantly looking down on people. Fred disliked him immediately.

George let out an almighty groan and hung weakly over the railing, finally acknowledging his seasickness.

"How long until we get off this bloody ship?"

"Another hour perhaps." Remus smirked, approaching the three of them "When we make port you will be issued your weapons. Tomorrow morning we head for the Somme River."

"As in…walking?"

"No, as in broomsticks, of course walking." George groaned bitterly from his slumped position.

"So…just how many people are supposed to be…fighting where we're going?" Oliver asked, somewhat hesitantly.

The captain sighed and tilted his cap to scratch his forehead "Many, many thousand. Far more than I would like to count. Although most of that number has either yet to come, or is there presently awaiting the rest of the ranks."

The ship gave a great lurch and the sound of retching was the next thing Fred, Oliver and Moony heard. George, greener than ever, was hanging very limply and miserably over the railing, his eyes closed in a vain attempt to calm the nausea.

"You alright, mate?" Fred screwed up his nose slightly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

George glared at him "Do I ruddy look alright? I just want to get off this blasted thing."

"You'll be back on it tonight, to sleep in the cabins." Remus arched an eyebrow and straightened up, leaving their company.

xxxXxxx

Fred lay with his head under the pillow, fully clothed on the bunk in the small cabin he and George shared with two others. Only one of whom they knew, a member of Platoon Snake, Marcus Flint.

The cabin boasted two small single cots with two hammocks swinging a number of feet above them. The twins had opted for the cots, Fred at first insisting upon the hammocks before remembering that the constant swinging of the hammock was probably not likely to help his brother sleep.

Flint wasn't a particularly good natured lad, a few years older than the twins perhaps, with an overbite, a perpetual sneer and dark hair slicked back in the same style as the rest of the men. He smirked and snatched the pillow off of the red headed soldier's head and whacked him with it.

Fred rolled his face to the side and glared at Flint.  
>"On your bike…" he muttered.<p>

The fourth inhabitant of the cabin looked about Flint's age and had busied himself with unfastening his boots. He was blonde and, unlike Flint, had a constant glint in his eyes.

Fred looked up at George who stood on one leg, untying his boot.

"Feeling any better?"

"Just as long as the bloody boat doesn't tip…" George grunted, glaring as Marcus pushed none too gently past him, pulling himself into one of the hammocks.

"Sea-sick, eh?" The blonde looked up, finally kicking off his own shoes.

"No…" George grunted and flushed, stowing his boots beside his bag and helmet.

"George, that's rubbish. You were as green as these bleeding uniforms." Fred smirked, loosening his tunic and dropping onto his back.

George kicked him and dropped onto his own cot "Yes. Thank you for that."

Flint had fallen silent, clearly having no desire to talk to any of them. The other man grinned and looked from one twin to the other.

"Twins, huh? That's pretty neat."

George exchanged a glance with Fred and arched his eyebrow. "No…" he began slowly "No, it's weird actually. We met last night at the inspection."

Fred laughed, feeling marginally more cheerful than he had that morning.

"Fred and George Weasley." He grinned, straightening up and arching a red eyebrow.

"Miles Baker, Platoon Raven." Miles smiled toothily and glanced between the twins. "So…who's who?"

The twins exchanged an identical smirk.  
>"I'm…"<p>

"Fred…and I'm…"

"George."

Baker shook his head, still none the wiser "Well at least you've got a sense of humour. More than I can say for some people."

George grunted and waited until Baker had climbed into the hammock above his bed before lying down.

"Oi…" Flint's less than pleasant voice grunted down to them "Put that light out would you?"

Fred rolled his eyes and made a rather rude gesture at the unaware soldier before doing so.

He half smiled across at his brother quickly before straining his ears to focus on the lapping of the water on the sides of the ship.

xxxXxxx

**Sorry! I know this is a late update but it's an update and it's here and I hope you enjoyed it! :D**

**Also, the term "On your bike", I hope you figured out what that means yourself XD**

**Anyways! Thanks heaps guys for your support and all that jazz, I really am glad you seem to like the idea Reviews feeeeeeed my soul (and in turn my typing fingers) :P **

**Not that I would ever withhold chapter, cause you know I wouldn't. I love you all too much for that. 3 3 3 **


	6. Chapter 6

**I know, I know, I knowwww! But this time I have a good excuse I promise! I was away at Hebron, which is a camp away for my religion. I had the most bestestest time. And anyway, I had every intention of updating before I went away, but….yeah that didn't happen. SO HERE it is. Also, "on your bike" is British slang for '#$& off'.**

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Six**

"Well…it ain't a palace that's for sure…" George smiled pathetically, shifting the weight of the weapon on his shoulder. He had liked the man that had issued them the guns, the man with the odd name. Ollivander or something akin to it.

Fred glanced at him, the company had slowed, and they now faced the place that would be their new home for who knew how long. A series of foreboding trenches, deep enough for a grown man to walk upright and wide enough to accommodate three to four men abreast welcomed them. To their side, the Somme River flowed.

A little ways from the trenches they had been told were field kitchens and hospitals to treat the wounded, these proved to be little more than great tents housing up to one thousand stretchers and cots.

This company were by far not the only men present. Many thousands of soldiers were there already.

They were in their platoons now, with their individual Captains. One by one they were led into a trench, sliding down the walls of earth and wood.

"That's where we sleep?" Fred muttered, adjusting the helmet on his head and looking critically around at their surroundings.  
>Sure enough, there were many small alcoves lined with a blanket or two, perhaps big enough for two soldiers to sleep. On closer examination, the trenches were more than they had seemed. Stools and overturned boxes that served as the former were assorted around. Here and there they passed a soldier scribbling on paper kept flat on his knees. There were closed off crates and alcoves that assumedly held ammo.<p>

They passed a sight that almost had George emit a loud gasp. A soldier sat to the side of where they walked, talking quietly to another man who had his back to the new arrivals. Half of the first man's face was horribly scarred. Three ugly, jagged cuts stretched the length of the left side of his face. But it was more what greeted the twins as the man drew off his helmet that shocked them. A rather dishevelled mass of red hair to match their own.

"Bloody hell…" George threw out an arm to stop Fred in his tracks. "Bill?"

The soldier looked up, startled by the shout. He stared for a moment, as if trying to work out who was talking to him before muttering something under his breath and jumping off the stool.

"You've gotta be joking!" He roared, grinning wildly.

Their eldest brother looked quite drastically different from when he and Charlie had left to fight. Nigh on a year had past and Bill would by now have had his twenty-fifth birthday. Though, and it was undoubtedly an effect of the War, he looked older. Something the jagged scars on his face somewhat contributed to. Aside from said scars, William Weasley looked otherwise unharmed. Something both twins were inwardly very relieved to see.

"Blimey it's good to see you!" The older of the brothers grinned, gripping each of the twin's shoulders in turn. His smile slowly faded, realising the situation.  
>"But not here…God…what are you two doing here?"<p>

"There was a new law…"

"Every man of or over the age of seventeen…"

"Had to enlist…"

"And we're seventeen now." They finished in unison

Bill looked confused for a moment and sighed "God, is it April already?"

George smirked and cast another look at his surroundings "Yeah, sure is…where's Charlie?"

"Charlie? Oh he's…around, somewhere." Bill replied, and in that moment the twins really noted just how tired their brother looked. His eyes looked distant as though he were staring at nothing in particular.

"What happened to your face? Cut yourself shaving?"

Bill snapped back to attention at Fred's words "What? Oh…these…" He touched his cheek gingerly "Had a little run in with a German. I went up to make sure he was dead and next thing I know he's jumped up and taken a knife to me face."

Both twins winced in unison. The extremity of the situation they were in dawning on them. They would be shooting to kill within a week, more than likely sooner.

xxxXxxx

George couldn't sleep. It was horrible, only their first night, but they were surrounded by many men who had fought thus far and George couldn't help wondering how many there had been to start with. Even Bill, invincible Bill Weasley, had been injured and it looked rather painful. Their sleeping arrangements were less than comfortable. People sprawled out wherever there was room available. Someone across the trench was sniffling to himself and that, accompanied by the incessant croaking of frogs and the rustling of blankets, made it near impossible to sleep.

"Gonna take a while to get used to this huh?" Fred muttered from somewhere close to his left.  
>"I don't want to use that thing…"<p>

George knew fully well what "that thing" was.  
>"Think of it as 'serving our country'…"<p>

"That's a load of hooey, George and you know it." Fred hissed, shifting uncomfortably away from whatever it was digging into his ribs.

"Of course it is…hey…" The man across from the twins stirred and George lowered his voice. He was quite positive that there was at least one person overhearing them. "Does Bill seem…different to you?"

"Don't really wanna think about it right now, George." Fred yawned and tried to settle his neck comfortably "Just let me sleep…"

xxxXxxx

The first time they saw Charlie, neither of the twins recognised him at first. Gone was the grin they were so accustomed to seeing. His chin was covered in red stubble, making it clear he rarely bothered to shave and he was noticeably scarred. One of his sleeves was rolled up, revealing at least three bullet wounds there alone and a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearm. He, much like Bill, looked older than his age, twenty-three.

The Charles Weasley they knew was back the moment he laid eyes on his brothers. He let out a loud cry and shoved though his companions to them.  
>"My God! What are you two doing here?"<p>

The same explanation they had offered their oldest brother the previous day was given and the glint in Charlie's eyes began to fade.  
>"It ain't a good place to be…God you had no choice I suppose…Ah well." He slung his unharmed arm over George's shoulder "Just don't go getting yourselves shot or anything."<p>

"Ha! You're one to talk." Fred snorted, jabbing at the bandage.

"He's right, every letter we got from you and Bill: Charlie got shot. Charlie got shot again. Oops he got shot again." George rolled his eyes and exchanged a grin with his brother as Charlie affectionately pulled him into a headlock.

"Ah, shut it!" He laughed and pushed Fred down onto a stool. "Now, how're things at home?"

"Average I guess…" George shrugged and exchanged a look with his twin "Though Mum's pretty distraught…that we've gone off to war too."

"As she would be I'd say. But hey! We might all be home soon, right?"

Fred arched an eyebrow "You really think?"

Charlie grinned sheepishly "Well…no, but still. Say! The 'hospital' facilities here ain't bad. At least, the nurses ain't bad." Charlie laughed.

Fred cocked an eyebrow "What's this now?"

"Well most of them are French girls see?" Charlie grinned "Reckon Bill's taken a shine to the one who cleaned up his face. Quite a looker that one too! Typically French name though, Phlegm or something like that. I was the one who dragged him, only half conscious by the way, up there. I swear, he tried to claim that a wild wolf gave him the scars!" He chuckled loudly. "Dunno how impressed she was."

Fred was unusually less amused than he ordinarily would have been by this tale. He managed a smirk "Billy's got a crush, eh?"

An awkward silence enveloped them for several moments, none of the three speaking. A hand clapped down on George's shoulder and he jumped slightly, cursing himself for doing so.

"You guys didn't mention you had another brother."

It was Baker and George couldn't help but find himself wondering why they would have told him anyway.

"Yeah, and another one-" Fred started.

"And another one…"

"And a younger one…"

"And a sister…"

Charlie arched an eyebrow, his eyes darting from twin to twin as they played verbal tennis. "Who's your friend?"

The younger man smiled slightly, looking marginally less confident than he had on the ship "Miles Baker, Platoon Raven."

"Oh right, I'd forgotten you'd be in platoons…" Charlie muttered "Bill and I's seemed to have pretty much disintegrated. Pity too. I liked Platoon Dragon…sorry…" He grinned, taking Baker's offered hand in a firm shake. "Charlie Weasley."

xxxXxxx

"Molly, they're in France." Arthur sighed, gently pulling on his wife's arm. She was staring intently at the front door, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She turned slowly and fixed her husband with a look.

"I know that…I just…can't believe they're gone…"

"It's been a week, Mum." Ron grunted, not letting the thought of his brothers in the War put him off his soup.

"A boring as hell week…" Ginny muttered.

"Ginevra! Watch your language!" Her mother snapped, glaring at her.

"Well someone had to say it!"

It was true, every member of the family was taking the twins' departure badly. Their family seemed far smaller, the house emptier and far, far quieter. Gone were the daily visits from neighbours complaining of their latest mischief, gone was Molly's daily shouting. There wasn't much to get angry about anymore. Still, it was difficult to imagine Fred and George in the War in a situation they would find it necessary to be quite serious.

Surely they would be fine, if Bill and Charlie were alright then they would be. There were other families in similar condition of course. In fact most families. Barbara Diggory was now the only one at home, her son and husband both gone off to War.

xxxXxxx

It was horrid, that's what it was. Absolutely horrid to see men as young as seventeen dressed as soldiers and carrying guns. It was worse still to see his little brothers doing the same, Bill mused, watching the conversation taking place between the twins and Moony. He sat leaning against the wall of the trench, his open flask half way to his lips. Fred and George were only seventeen. It was the last thing Bill wanted to see, his brothers going to fight. After what he himself had experienced and seen…it was not the adventure he had expected upon signing up to 'serve his country'. He'd shot and he'd killed people. Fred and George would be doing the same sooner than they expected.

He was responsible for them, in one sense, being the eldest. Or he felt like he should be. If something were to happen to them, either one of them, Bill would blame himself for not watching out for them. How could he ever explain it to their mother if Fred or George were shot dead, or even wounded at all?

Fred's face paled considerably from whatever Moony had told them and looked like he would vomit at any moment, George's eyes were wide open in shock.

A large lump formed in the eldest Weasley child's throat. He knew what they had been told, he'd been told the same thing himself by James Potter not long ago. Tomorrow, he would be taking up his gun again. Tomorrow, his brothers would fire a gun for the first time, they would shoot, with intent to kill, for the first time. The offensive was to begin the very next morning.


	7. Chapter 7

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Seven**

It was silent, eerily silent. Barely a soul spoke as they gathered their things, fastening belts and helmets securely. It was unnerving to see the ease with which some carried their guns, the lack of expression on their faces, as though this was just another day.

Within an hour, guns would be firing, people would be running…people would be dying, with only enough training to know how to reload their rifles, they would be thrown headfirst into battle. The thought was enough to make several people vomit before it even began. They were in platoons now, Oliver was one of the unfortunate victims of nausea and was now more green than white as he stood beside the twins. To the left of Platoon Griffon, Raven was stationed and beside them, Snake. To their right was Phoenix and Badger. Padfoot, Prongs and Moony stood grimly beside each other, the cowardly Wormtail a little ways behind them.

George, his arms tingling less than pleasantly, was slow to pick up his gun. It was heavier than it had been the other times he had held it. Or maybe it was his arms that were heavier, he couldn't tell. He now realised, and wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it before, that there was a ledge a few feet up the wall of the trench, which would undoubtedly add enough height to allow the men to fire without leaving the offered protection of the trenches. It was the allied British and French that would advance in an attempt to break the defences of the opposition and mercifully this trench was almost at the very back.  
>The silence was horribly deafening now, Fred was quite sure he could actually hear the hearts of the soldiers around him beating. One man kissed the small cross that hung around his neck and closed his eyes in a way that Fred could only assume meant he was praying. There was movement from somewhere and turning his head to the right he could see a group climbing quietly out of the trench, crouching low as they ran.<br>"You alright?"

"Yeah…I guess." Fred muttered.

George tried to laugh weakly and nudged his twin "Yeah, yeah me too."

A few moments later, a deafening roar shook the ground, frightfully loud and yet far from them. More than one man yelled and ducked in panic, Wormtail one of them. Unanimously, upon command, the company was moving forward, over the wall of the trench. Oliver paused a moment to pull Fred up and then they were running, rifles clutched firmly to their chests, following Moony across the harsh land that was the Western Front. The explosion had been a mine, it was visible now, a good fifty yards away, a large cloud of smoke and debris where there had once been solid ground.

George looked back, searching through the mass of soldiers for familiar faces, this proved a bad idea and he very nearly toppled into a ditch and in fact would have had someone not tugged him sideways. Platoon Raven was there, and Phoenix too, not that there was time to distinguish who was from where. There was no gunfire, not yet, not even a sight of a single German. It still felt surreal, as though it were all an illusion and again, everything lapsed into silence. For one agonizingly slow minute George could hear nothing but the dull crunching of boots. A blonde Captain, presumably that of Platoon Raven shouted something and with that the silence was shattered. The heavy fire of artillery filled the air and not a moment too soon they had thrown themselves to the ground.

"Don't close your eyes you blithering idiot!" Fred shouted, hitting his brother.

"One hundred yards…that's not far between us and them…there's a trench thirty yards from here. Don't hesitate to shoot!" Padfoot's familiar voice instructed. "Lockhart!"

The blonde Captain the twins had not recognised was up, his gun held at the ready; he sprinted, not making it ten yards before another mine went off, close enough to send chunks of rock flying their way. Only then did the twins realise the magnitude of this. On every side, thousands upon thousands of Brits and French alone fought, guns firing with a disturbing ease.

Oliver already had his gun ready to fire, finger on the trigger, he sprinted, the first of the lot of them to make for the trench. A burst of fire nearby and Fred could have sworn he actually felt a bullet flying very close to him. Leaping the last five yards he rolled, less than gracefully into the trench, George catapulting into him as he mirrored his brother's action.

"Oh God…oh God…" George wasn't even sure whether it was Fred or himself who said it. For all the world he thought he was colour blind.

The trench was nothing but a mess of green and brown. A combination of the dust in the air and the naturally dull colours that was their surroundings, accompanied by the green of identical infantry uniforms, only served to further darken the mood and made it nearly impossible to tell one soldier from another. Prongs and another soldier appeared half dragging Lockhart who mercifully appeared not to be dead, only out cold.

"I can't use it! I can't!" Fred blinked, gritting his jaw and trying his best just to hold the gun and not throw it away. It was in that precise moment that twins looked down to see a sight to make even the thickest skinned person nauseas.

The bottom of the trench was spotted, barely twenty minutes into the offensive, with bodies. Some twitching, some groaning and others were not moving at all, almost every one of them was spattered with dark blotches of blood.

"Don't just sit there! Be useful!" Someone shouted, though probably not at them. Trying his very best not to vomit, George placed a foot on the ledge much the same as in the trench they had come from and stood on it. The sight above the wall of the trench was worse. The dust had cleared slightly, the opposition was visible now, distinguishable by the pointed spike on their helmets. Like the British, their opponents crouched, or lay flat in self-preservation.

"Fred! Get up here…" Hesitantly George mirrored the movement of the men alongside him in the trench, laying his rifle close to the ground, his finger poised on the trigger and frozen in place. Someone appeared beside him, but it wasn't Fred.

"Oliver?" He was barely recognisable, dust and dirt coated his skin and clothes and…was that blood on his leg?

Another mine somewhere shook the ground, jolting them off the ledge. More than one man was screaming, George lost all sense of direction as the shock of the blast temporarily stunned him.

"Fred!" Where was he? They had been separated, clearly, and there was little hope Fred would hear him above all the noise.

Oliver was running now, pulling George behind him to a spot where the wall of the trench been sloped, a result of one of the blasts, a mess of wood, stone, earth and blood served as a kind of ramp.

"Let bleeding go of me!"

Wood did so, his face hollow and jaw shaking violently, crouching beside the slope, making use of the convenient vantage point. He looked at George properly then and blinked.  
>"Where's Fred?"<p>

"I don't know!"

Glancing at the bodies littering the ground was a terrible mistake, George's head immediately conjured images he had no desire to entertain.  
>Dammit, Fred…don't you dare get shot…<p>

"Oliver…your leg…"

"I think a bullet grazed it…it's not that bad though…I think."

There was another unwanted image, the hospital facilities…they would never be enough. Not for this many.

xxxXxx

Bill Weasley lifted his rifle, a year of experience behind him, dropping to his knees behind a makeshift wall of sandbags and planks that sheltered one of the field guns. With him were three others, one was an officer setting up the large weapon.  
>He rose, and along with three others, let loose a short stream of fire before dropping back down defensively. It even unnerved himself sometimes, how natural this movement came to him, how easy it was to pull the trigger of a gun. Bill could feel bullets pelting into the sand bags, the only thing separating himself from the opposition's fire. His throat had closed up marginally, and blood was pounding loudly in his ears, so much so he could barely hear the frantic orders being barked by the officer. His brothers were out there, he had no idea where. He feared for Charlie even at the best of times, it was alarming, though no longer surprising, how prone that man was to being shot. Now he had Fred and George to worry about too. He was confident that Charlie could handle himself well enough and in fact he had saved Bill's life on more than one occasion. But the twins…they'd barely held a gun before, let alone shot from one. It was a horrible position to be in, Bill knew that himself.<p>

How distraught their mother must have been to have to send two more sons off to war. He rose again, on the officer's orders, to fire. This time watching a German or two being cut down, and a soldier of their own being hit in the shoulder. Instinctively Bill cried out, tearing the bandage they each carried from the wounded Englishman's pouch and pressed it to the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding and save the man's life.  
>"Hold it there!" He cried, though barely registered the words leaving his mouth. Images plagued his mind, his brothers, wounded or dead on the battlefield. It was difficult enough seeing any old Tom, Dick or Harry in that condition.<p>

There was a roar and Bill's ears rung as the large field gun fired, momentarily deaf he leant back against the wall, watching a stream of enemy fire tear through the sandbags. The officer operating the large piece of artillery fell dead, much to the horror of the other soldiers, who could do nothing but return fire.

"Weasley!"

Bill turned to face his wounded comrade and arched an eyebrow in spite of the situation.

"What?"

"You just got promoted."

xxxXxxx

The man to the right of Fred, who had been separated from George in the to do, dropped and for one horrible second Fred thought he'd been shot, but caught sight of him running, head down in another direction. Almost immediately another took his place and Fred did a double take. His face was smudged, blackened with dirt, but it was Baker alright.

"You alright?" He roared over the din of gunfire.

Fred clenched his jaw, glancing frantically along the line of infantry for George, to no avail, the fire was growing louder, it seemed closer now and he had to shout to be heard as he deflected the question.  
>"Are you?"<p>

Miles nodded grimly and straightened up on the ledge again, his head, shoulders and upper torso protruding above the trench like so many around them, like Fred.  
>"I think so-"<p>

Fred's mouth grew still drier, if it were possible, his eyes opened wide with horror as he instinctively ducked. One instant the older boy had been preparing to fire, the next, only inches away from Fred, he had let out a scream of pain and toppled backwards, a shell buried in his now crimson coated chest. He was dead in moments.

The weapon dropped from Fred's hand and he barely managed to catch it before it went off of its own accord. The Weasley's heart was racing, this was the first man he'd actually watched die, and knew, to some extent, to boot. He choked down the urge to be sick, unable to escape the thought that it would have been him had that bullet flown but a few inches to the side. For several moments he simply stared at the body, trying to accept it.

George…where was George? God, what if he had been hit?

Fred knew it now, as he raised his gun and squeezed the trigger, that there was no time to dwell on the reality of the situation, no time to curl up and hide. His only choices were to kill, or to be killed.


	8. Chapter 8

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Eight**

All comprehension of time was non-existent, even the sky was so clouded that it could have either been noon or well after sunset. If it was the latter, which seemed far more likely, there was an eerie brightness. Dust still hadn't settled after the heavy rain of fire had ceased, leaving a sort of orange tinge over the ground. Bodies, British, French and German alike, littered the ground, so many were there that it was hard to move without touching one.

George stared without seeing, he had never felt smaller or more alone than he did in this moment. They had suffered heavy casualties that much was painfully obvious, and again he couldn't help wondering just how many had been alive when the day began. Oliver's leg was worse than either of them had thought. Running and dodging hadn't done him much good.

All around them those who were still alive were nursing their own wounds, or aiding others who could not help themselves, the lack of emotion on some faces was almost as bad as the sheer terror and loss that showed on the faces of others, others who had just found the body of a friend, or family member.

Now here he was, aiding a limping Oliver in what he assumed was the direction of a trench and George wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified that he hadn't yet found Fred. He wasn't dead…no way, he couldn't be dead. George would know it if he was. They were twins, after all.

He had eventually plucked up the courage to shoot, to actually aim his rifle and fire…he couldn't believe it, he had killed people…at least he thought he had, he hadn't exactly bothered to check. He had scared himself the first time he'd fired, knowing that there was a chance of someone dying with every bullet that left his gun.

How long had it been? His water was long drained from his flask and he felt certain it had been a great deal longer than half a dozen hours or so. Which was worse, the sounds of gunfire and explosions, or the sounds of the screams of pain or sorrow, of so many men weeping? George couldn't tell.

People were shouting, orders most likely, to which George paid little attention. It was eerie, the ceasefire, the end of a single day that felt closer to a week. It didn't feel as though it would start again…it was hard to comprehend the fact that Bill and Charlie had been there a whole year. A year of this? A whole year of shooting and running and trying your hardest not to die? It's a marvel they were still alive, as dark as that concept was to think about.  
>They hadn't gained much ground, and very little progress had been made, that much was easy to tell. It was terrifying, the vast amount of corpses from both sides that littered almost every available patch of land, George couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be far more British and French than German dead...not that it was possible to tell in many cases.<p>

"You okay?" He muttered, helping Oliver to lower himself into a seating position and trying his hardest to ignore the very large lump in his throat that was making it increasingly difficult to breathe. If he didn't see Fred soon…

"I'm fine. Get lost alright! Go find your brother…" Wood grunted, trying to bind the wound without assistance and yelping sharply at the pain.

George closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

"Are you sure?"

Wood opened his mouth to yell at him before somebody else spoke. Barely a soul was recognisable in the aftermath, but George felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him at the soldier who greeted them, though he couldn't quite explain why.

"I'll take him, kid."

Prongs, his eyes tired and helmet missing, stood beside them. His uniform was bloody but he didn't appear injured…which meant it was another man's blood. Without another word he offered a sort of lopsided grin to George, knelt down, slung Wood's arm around his neck and half carried, half dragged him away.

xxxXxxx

"Fred…you ass, you'd better not have gotten shot…" George muttered, his fear turning to desperation with each passing minute he didn't see his twin.

Something caught his eye then, a mess of bright red hair that was prominently visible amongst the mass of bodies. His heart leapt into his throat for a moment, before plunging straight down through his feet and into the earth. No…no way…

Only then did he realise that he was running, stumbling repeatedly over a variety of rocks and corpses toward the red hair as though it were all that was tying him to sanity. Which it probably was. He let out a somewhat strangled cry somewhere between terrified and grievous as he dropped down to his knees. The face was turned away and he hardly dared to breathe, let alone summon the courage to turn the head to face him. He did though and almost choked on the relief that flooded through him. It wasn't Fred. Thank God it wasn't Fred.  
>George closed his eyes for a moment again and immediately wished he hadn't. The moment his vision was obscured by eyelids he felt sick. If possible the bodies around him were even more horrific when he couldn't physically see them.<p>

"Oh thank God, George!"

The Weasley's eyes snapped open then and he turned slowly at the familiar voice, he could have cried he was so relieved at that moment. Fred was alive…he barely looked like himself, but he seemed unharmed. Except for the blood, there was a lot of it on his clothes.

"Bloody hell…are you alright?" George swallowed thickly "I've been looking for you for ages!"

Fred forced the largest smile he could manage, still barely visible as he embraced his brother, terrified of being separated from his twin in this place again.

"Yeah I'm okay…it's not my…" He took a slightly shuddering breath and started over "It's not my blood."

George looked down, only then realising that half of his own uniform was drenched in blood from Oliver's leg and he imagined that the expression Fred wore was very similar to his own upon seeing Fred's condition.

"Oliver's." He muttered by way of explanation…immediately wishing he had had the foresight to offer more explanation than that.

His brother's reaction was immediate, his face paled considerably more and his eyes widened. No way… Oliver Wood? The boy who had thought them cricket and acted as though it were the single most important thing in the world? Fred had stolen his cricket ball once, Oliver was not particularly thrilled with him.  
>"Oliver's dead?"<p>

"No, no! He was just shot…leg's not too good…" George smirked very slightly "Poor bloke will probably never play cricket again…" Wood would have slaughtered him had he heard that comment.

They were walking now, slowly, in the vague direction of the trench they had first been assigned. Neither twin spoke and they barely even looked at each other until Fred, his voice emotionless and dry said something.

"Miles Baker's dead. I saw it…died before he could finish his sentence."

George stopped walking and looked up. "Bloody hell…"

Noticing that his brother was no longer beside him, Fred turned. "What? I've kinda made my peace with it."

The younger twin shuddered involuntarily, Fred had just watched someone they both knew to some extent die, he'd no doubt shot and killed like George had…and yet…he seemed almost desensitised by all of it. George knew that it was bound to happen eventually, but so soon? He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit.

xxxXxxx

"Who are you? And…who am I?"

Fred arched an eyebrow questioningly at the soldier tending to the wound on Lockhart's head who was leaning against the wall of the trench, gazing around in apparently rapt interest.

"Bugger's lost his memory." Said soldier grunted, obviously growing increasingly frustrated and looked as though he was considering picking up a rock and belting the now essentially useless man over the head with it.

"Oh, hello!" Lockhart beamed toothily, not unlike the smile a child would give when presented with his favourite toy. "Did you know there are two of you?"

The twins exchanged a look. "Yes…"

"This is a nice place isn't it?" The delusional soldier chirped, looking around at the horrible surroundings covered in either blood or lifeless bodies being moved.

"Do you live here?"

George stared at him, feeling the very same urge to beat him with a rock.  
>"No." He replied contemptuously. Realising a moment later that was half a lie. They were living here now. This was their life…soldiers, living in trenches and sleeping where there was room.<p>

Even as they walked away someone fired a short round, the stream of cursing would probably easily have been heard a ways away.  
>"Sorry!" Someone shouted.<p>

Another person, undoubtedly Lockhart cried out in what appeared to be amazement.  
>"Amazing! That was just like magic!"<p>

A dull thud and the sound of someone hitting the ground followed immediately and George felt, with grim satisfaction, that his urge had been fulfilled.

xxxXxxx

George felt…was there even a word for how he felt? He couldn't sleep, he was still ridden with fear and he thought he would either faint or vomit at any moment. Fred was asleep, and in that moment George hated him for it. What he wouldn't give to be able to sleep, each time he closed his eyes he was plagued with horrible images of war. If possible they seemed even worse second hand. Not that Fred's dreams looked pleasant, he was curled into himself and he was frowning, his face looked altogether like that of a child having a nightmare. Perhaps Fred wasn't as…desensitised as he had seemed.

George sat up, there was no way he would be able to get any sleep now, not with the looming thought that it would all begin again on the morrow. He'd killed people… no, that didn't even bother him, not as much as thoughts of his brothers killing people. Laidback, joker of bloke that was Charlie, generally calm and reasonable Bill, and Fred, all of them shooting to kill…it scared George. And he didn't mind voicing his fear. But of course he'd only tell Fred, anyone else would think him yellow bellied pond scum.

He looked over at Fred again, and frowned slightly, his lips were moving, forming silent words, something Fred only ever did when the dream was really horrible. Steadily, the words became audible, very soft and George had to strain to catch the words, but audible none the less.

"…don't wanna play anymore…I wanna…go home…"

The younger twin felt a lump rise into his throat far beyond that of nausea. Fred was supposed to be the strong one. Not the one who would whimper in his sleep and want to go home. From the beginning Fred had been the one to see this as an adventure. He almost wanted to wake Fred to stop him dreaming whatever it was that was paining him but he sounded like he would cry if he was conscious and George knew there wasn't a high chance that he would get back to sleep and they needed all the rest they could get here.

The best he could do was lean back and try to get comfortable, still not daring to close his eyes. It was horrible, he wouldn't have felt so lonely had Fred been awake too. But George wouldn't wake him. He tried his hardest not to dwell on the very worst moments of the day, the short minute or so he thought he'd lost his identical twin. Though it was a vain attempt, in trying not to think about it, by default he was thinking about it anyway. It would be literally the worst thing he could imagine, actually losing Fred. No…he had to stop thinking that. They'd be fine, they had been separated today but that wouldn't happen again. No. It wouldn't.

Slowly, and without realising it, George began to drift off, his mind finally surrendering to the tempting realm of unconsciousness.

They had buried theirs, and Germans had done likewise, but tomorrow it would start all over again.


	9. Chapter 9

**PLEASE READ: Sorry for the late update! But here it is anyway! I'm not entirely sure when I will next have the chance to update so I do hope this one is worth it for you all. Thing is, in ten days time I will be in Detroit, and no longer here in Australia and I'm not entirely sure how much access I will have to a computer then. I'm gonna be there for a month and I get home on January 5****th****, so just because I haven't updated, don't worry, I haven't died, I'm just not in the country. I love you all! I will see you when I get back! (I'll try to get in another update before I leave but I think we all know that's not likely to happen).**

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Nine**

_There's so many wars we fought  
>There's so many things we're not<br>But with what we have  
>I promise you that<br>We're marchin on  
>We're marchin on<em>

xxxXxxx

It seemed unnervingly normal now, by the end of the second week, simply routine. They got up, ate a sparing amount of their daily rations, perhaps a sip of rum to get them through the morning, filled their flasks…with water mind you, loaded their rifles and then they were fighting again. In the evening, they returned to a trench after a particularly poor attempt to gain more ground, shifted a few corpses, ate the rest of their daily rations, including both tea and rum, and tried, usually unsuccessfully, to sleep. If their mother knew the twins were drinking rum…

Food was slowly becoming a luxury at times, it was nigh impossible to get decent food whilst a battle was in full flow. It wasn't until stand downs that the majority of the rations were issued to the trenches.

It was rather alarming to Fred, how easy it had become to use the gun. It was almost as though it had become a kind of extension of his arm, he'd learnt to reload it quickly now. Two weeks and both he and George had avoided being shot or injured enough to leave more than cuts and bruises, mercifully. He'd gotten past the point of feeling nauseous every time he saw death, it happened far, far too frequently for that. Not a few minutes ago he'd watched a member of Platoon Snake die, it was horrid…he'd vaguely known him, Crabbe or something. As much of a troll as that kid had been…he was still only fifteen…and clearly had snuck into enlistment.

Last they'd seen of either Bill or Charlie had been days ago, but the both of them had looked relatively in one piece. It was rather remarkable when one stopped to think about it, with people being injured or killed left, right and centre, it was remarkably lucky that neither of the twins had been hit yet.

xxxXxxx  
><em>For all of the plans we've made,<br>There isn't a flag I'd wave,  
><em>xxxXxxx

It wasn't fair for them to feel that they were the only one's leaving anything behind. That attitude was complete bollocks. In time spent with limited company it wasn't rare to know the backgrounds of people, or those who bothered to share. Surprisingly there was an alarmingly high number of people who were more than willing to come up, perch themselves next to someone they'd never met and proceed to tell them about their family back home.

Both the twins knew that Mooney had been having a difficult time leaving, he'd left a very pregnant wife behind, knowing full well he may never get to see the child. She'd had a very unusual name…a memorable one for sure. Nymphadora. What on earth had been going through her parents' minds when they'd named their daughter that, George would never know.

Prongs too had left a family. George had done a double take when he'd heard someone call him Potter. He'd shown the twins a photograph too, of his wife and son who they both recognised as Ron's good friend, Harry. In fact now that they knew, Harry bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, it was quite a wonder they hadn't recognised Prongs to be James Potter.

xxxXxxx_  
>Don't care if we bend,<br>I'd sink us to swim,  
>We're marching on,<br>(We're marching on)  
>(We're marching on)<br>_xxxXxxx

Another week in had seen the platoons essentially dissolve, the already pathetic tea grow even weaker, the ammo kept in ready demand and increasingly worse injuries continue to spring up. One of the field hospitals had been lost a few days prior, gone up in smoke after a grenade had been flung. It was terrible. Increasingly less progress was being made and George felt for sure the British and French hadn't even gained half a mile.

"Doing alright then?"

George looked up from his knees, having been trying desperately to quell the splintering headache, and grunted a greeting to Cedric.  
>"Yeah you know, aside from the explosions-"<p>

"The headaches-" Fred interjected.

"The lack of sleep-"

"The horrible tea-"

"The filthy clothes-"

"The body odour-"

"We're just peachy." They finished together.

A mine went off somewhere to their distant right and Diggory slid down the wall of the trench opposite the brothers. "That's about right isn't it? Not been shot then?"

Fred arched an eyebrow and replied sarcastically "No actually you're wrong. I'm bleeding to death right now-ow! What was that for?" He looked indignantly at George, rubbing his shoulder.

George just glared at him and resumed his attempts to dull the throbbing in his head. "How're you coping?" He asked, somewhat muffled.

Cedric half smiled "Well I'm not hurt if that's what you mean. Wouldn't mind being back in England though."

"I thought you were excited to come?"

"No…just excited to see my father really…never know what day's gonna be your last out here."

Fred chuckled "Cheery thought, mate."

Diggory was good bloke, nice enough though not the brightest match in the box, good at cricket, particularly friendly, a little pompous sometimes but that was hard to avoid.

He was probably the closest the twins had to a good friend here, with the exception of Oliver whose leg had healed just enough to enable him to move around again.

"How long do you suppose this will last?" He asked half absentmindedly.

Fred looked at him for a moment "Ced…you know we're here until either the war's over, or we're shipped out or dead, right? Would you _stop_ that?"

George glared at him again, he would not listen to Fred talk about dying. No sir.

Diggory chuckled emptily "I know, I just miss home…I miss Mum, and Cho…" He crinkled up his nose "And I think I mostly miss being clean."

"Oh come on, we know what you really are, Ced…" George grinned.

"You're always positive…"

"Insanely friendly…"

"Your hair's not messed up…"

Diggory arched an eyebrow and smirked, it wasn't uncommon for the Weasley twins to be taking the mickey out of someone.  
>"Go on then, say it. What am I then?"<p>

"Nancy boy." They replied in unison, grinning.

"Just joshing, mate!" Fred stuck his tongue out, glad for an excuse to laugh again.

"Hear, hear!" George grinned, leaning his head back against the trench, feeling it shake as another mine, marginally closer than the other, went off.

"Anyway, what about you? Have you got someone waiting for you back home?"

"Besides the family, no." Fred shrugged.

"Really? I thought you and-"

"No one." Fred repeated stubbornly, ending the topic. Angelina was the very last person he wanted to talk about.

xxxXxxx_  
>Right, right, right, right left right,<br>Right, right, right, right left right,  
>Right, right,<br>We're marching on.  
><em>xxxXxxx

Cedric seemed to have made it a point from then on to speak with the twins more. In Fred's mind he was rather akin to an oversized wart, though…much less troublesome than a wart and he would definitely prefer Diggory over one.

Perhaps it was this then that enhanced the impact they felt that day. Not yet a month into the battle and Cedric was only a few months away from eighteen years of age, only a little older than the twins. It was still odd really, the more Fred thought on it, how surreal it still felt to him, and how it had then too, despite well and truly having acknowledged the cost of war. Fred had come to terms with it early on, in the very first day after watching Miles Baker die in front of him. Though the expression on George's face, no doubt identical to his own, and the extent to which his skin whitened quickly, proved that this had been the moment for his brother. The moment of acknowledgement that anyone could die, at any moment. That they could be next…

The terrible cry had been heart wrenching, there really was no other word accurate enough. The sight of Amos Diggory determinedly pushing his way through a mass of soldiers was one that would stay with the twins for a long time to come.

"No! That's my son! That's my boy! Let me through!"

He had thrown himself down immediately onto the fallen figure, ignoring any kind of sympathetic looks he was offered or shouts to look alive…that there would be time to grieve later.

The insensitivity of the comment was not the thing that disgusted Fred. It was the truth of it. They were still fighting, barricade or no barricade there were still bullets flying. Taking the chance to stop and grieve for a fallen soldier could easily cost one their own life. But even despite that…the man had just lost his son…Cedric Diggory was dead. He may not be a parent but the seventeen year old knew enough to support the claim that no parent should have to bury their child.  
>The Captain's wails did not subside…understandably they only grew, he refused to be pulled from the terribly pale body of his son, viciously pulling himself away from any offered solace.<p>

"My boy!"

Fred remembered why it had felt so surreal to him. Cedric had been invincible, even back in England he'd never so much as been struck by a stray cricket ball. To see him completely still and pale as anything was horrible really and he felt, in that moment like he had lost a good friend. Which was true to a certain extent, and in his own way he knew he too would grieve that loss. It wasn't hard to imagine being in Amos' position…

It made sense then to Fred why George hit him every time he even so much as joked about dying. George could see it happening and his brother, from that moment on, would know better than to put him through imagining that again.

xxxXxxx

"I'm not!"

"Oh come on, I can see you, it's blooming obvious...it's alright."

"I'm not crying, Fred! I don't cry! Now would you get off my back about it?" George, trying desperately hard not to do the very thing he way denying, snapped, turning away. "Get lost…"

"Hey! I'm trying to be nice here…it's alright, George." Fred shrugged off the heavy pack and sat down beside and a little ways behind his twin "No one's judging ya…half the men here have cried their share."

George didn't reply for several moments "You haven't…I thought I'd gotten used to this…I mean it's not like he's the first bloke who got shot…"

The older twin shrugged and stared down at the helmet he was twirling absentmindedly in his hands. "So? First one you really knew wasn't he? And why should you care if I cry or not?"

"Because, Fred…" George rounded on him "You're my twin. That's why, and because I feel real pathetic when I'm the crying one."

They lapsed into silence again, George taking to staring at the sky, trying to force unshed tears back, only succeeding in making his eyes water further with the unsettled dust.

Fred watched his brother's shoulder and nudged him "Oi...I don't think you're pathetic. If you're pathetic, than by default I am too. You're allowed to cry, mate. Ced was a good bloke."

George grunted and, barely realising it, opened his pack perched securely between his knees. He pulled the crimson garment from it and crucially examined the golden G before stowing it back into the depths of the bag.  
>"We shouldn't be here, Fred." He muttered.<p>

"I know…here…" Fred held out the last of his rationed rum "You need it more than I do."

There was no complaint and George took the drink almost mechanically.  
>"We're gonna lose all our troops before we make any progress at all aren't we? Not much chance of being home for Christmas I suppose…"<p>

Fred snorted "Probably not…unless we get wounded enough to be sent home but I don't fancy losing my legs, do you?" He laughed dryly and looked over at George who still refused to look at him. "God I'm scared."

The twins fell silent again, interrupted by a burst of random gunfire somewhere to their distant right.  
>George actually looked at his brother then, and in that moment felt three years old again, caught up in a horrifying nightmare.<br>"I don't wanna die, Fred…and I don't want you to die even more."

xxxXxxx

_We'll have the days we break,  
>And we'll have the scars to prove it,<br>We'll have the bonds that we save,  
>But we'll have the heart not to lose it.<em>

_**Marchin' On- One Republic**_


	10. Chapter 10

**I know I know! I got back a month ago and had the worst case of writer's block! But I'm back, and I promise the next chapter soon! I promise! Hold me to it if you must**

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Ten**

It had been several weeks since Cedric's death, something that had affected Fred more than he was keen to let on. Especially to George. He knew entirely too well that George was having every bit as difficult a time as he was, perhaps more so, and Fred wanted to be strong for his twin. One of them needed to be.

He'd encountered close combat for the first time a week previous. Fortunately the man had been smaller than he was and apparently easily knocked unconscious and Fred hadn't yet had to rely on his knife to save his life. It hadn't seemed a new thing, and it wasn't really, to be at blows with someone. He and George had been in many a fight back in England, naturally to their mother's distaste. The scary thing for Fred was that he was unable to tell if it was easier to throw a punch or to shoot a gun now.

The soldiers had taken to splitting off into pairs, never one man alone, in an alternative attempt to possibly gain a little more ground, a little more progress.

The twins very rarely saw either of their other war ridden brothers now, not that it was particularly likely that they would have. Word was that Bill had been promoted, whether that was good thing or a bad thing was yet to be decided.

Fred was on heightened alert now, he'd almost lost his leg in a mine blast that had hideously taken the head of another solider. This was barely war. This was a massacre. And that was the only thing that had been going through Fred's head each day now. He'd managed to avoid sleep for multiple nights to the point he had literally fallen asleep on his feet, so horrid had his dreams become.

He couldn't ignore the feeling growing in his gut as he fastened his belt. Fred wouldn't go so far as to call them butterflies…but he'd go far enough to say it made him feel sick. As though something was going to happen today, though that was no different to every other day. Fred shook it off.

xxxXxxx

It was somewhere between comforting and terrifying, George thought, being paired with Mooney. On the one hand, he was an experienced soldier and knew far more about war than George did. On the other hand he hadn't a clue where Fred would be, or Charlie, or Bill…heck, even Oliver. He was scared, he wouldn't deny that any longer. He was always scared.

Run. Duck. Run. Crouch. Fire. Try not to be shot. It was incredibly repetitive. There was little time, he soon discovered, to think of anything other than keeping himself alive and alert. Everyone looked the same on the battlefield, and George thought himself fairly lucky that he hadn't lost track of Mooney. The captain was a good man, every ten yards he'd crouch and turn to be sure George was with him, or at least uninjured.

The Weasley shuddered involuntarily, flattening his back against the remnants of a tank, a moment after Mooney did so. They were both breathing heavily and panic was rising by the instant as shells rained down around them, spattering the dirt and the horrid unmistakable sound of them ripping through some unfortunate solider, British, French, German, they all sounded the same. They all died the same and George was beginning to realize just how much the same they really were.

Mooney took a breath and glanced around, pulling his head back at the same time and narrowly avoiding a bullet or five to the head. The boy beside him, George, or Fred, or was it Lee…ah, he didn't remember. Either way the poor solider was terrified, and the captain didn't blame him at all, sometimes he cursed his own hardness about war. A hardness that grew from years of unfortunate experience.

The boy offered a nod, signaling he was alright and Mooney forced a flat smile as best he could, he'd willingly lay down his own life for any of his fellow soldiers. It was so very unfortunate that men so young were recruited, this fellow behind him couldn't be older than seventeen. They'd not yet even lived their own lives…let alone one of a soldier.

He lifted his gun as the constant fire around them dulled to a roar and flicked his head forward, a gesture to move and stay low. He clutched his weapon close to his chest and with a grunt tore from the poor and limited shelter the broken and destroyed tank had offered them.

George felt his heart beating in his ears and all of a sudden the gunfire and screams of dying men were silenced. He could hear them no longer momentarily and he panicked, was he deaf? Could enough exposure to such sounds do that? He stayed close, bent almost double a yard from the higher ranking man.  
>For an instant, just an instant he lifted his eyes from the ground and felt the familiar, yet slowly dulling pang of sadness as he watched a man not far from them be cut down brutally. And then he saw it….where Mooney was sprinting for, the very small rocky outcrop, saw the blaze of fire raining from the man's gun to their left as he ran right.<p>

That wasn't all George saw, he saw the solider, opposition obviously slipping from behind the outcrop that Mooney made for but did not watch. George saw the German's gun raise and take aim, for Mooney's unsuspecting back.  
>Adrenaline, and anger fuelling his actions more than coherent thought, the Weasley's gun was held high, and with constantly improving aim he fired, and simultaneously shouted a warning. It worked, his aim was true and the German fell dead even as Remus turned to look.<p>

The Captain chewed his lip, his eyes darting, keeping an eye on the pair's left as they ran, amidst the gunfire. Before he really knew what was happening he caught the outcrop a matter of yards away in his peripheral vision. His sight reflexively switched back, there was no one blocking their way as far as he'd been able to tell in a few moments.  
>Then everything sped up, a burst of fire close to him and a loud shout, that he could only assume was a warning made Remus turn. His eyes widened as he caught the German's gun falling from his hands and the body twist backwards and collapse lifelessly. His heart rate sped up drastically, the bullets in that German's gun had been intended for him. The Englishman turned, his chest heaving quickly and he stared at the solider behind him. The youth's gun lowered slowly and his blue eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. Saved Remus' life.<p>

The man offered a sincere grin and nodded gratefully, ducking behind the outcrop and pulling the boy…no, the man, down too.

"Cheers…I owe you one!" His ears were ringing and he had to shout to hear himself.

George wouldn't quite say he was in shock, this was by no means the first man he'd killed, but as he lowered his gun slowly and let himself be tugged down to shelter, he felt his throat dry. His hand dropped to the ground and he jerked it back up the moment he felt wetness. Blood, the German's, covered his palm and he cringed, clenching a first and leaping onto his feet.

This wasn't the first kill, far from it, but it was the first time George really felt…almost sickly pleased with himself. Partially because he'd just saved his superior's life but…had part of him enjoyed the kill?

Remus was shouting something that sounded like thanks and offering a genuine grin, one of the first George had ever seen on the man. He smirked at the comment and nodded.  
>"Don't mention it."<p>

xxxXxxx

Where was he? More importantly, where was Mooney? George could see no one he recognized, not that it was a particularly shocking fact… It was just him, and the gunfire, explosions, loud booms of canons and tanks and screams and shouts filled the atmosphere. Infected it, like a fatal disease. One George had no wish to catch.

He had long lost his helmet, had thrown it as a distraction and run the other way as it landed. How would he ever find his brothers now, if he didn't even know where he was?

A shout somewhere behind him and George ducked into a defensive crouch, flattening on his stomach low in amongst weeds and uprooted grass. He slid his rifle forward, finger poised on the trigger as he caught movement across from him.  
>"Come out, come out…" He muttered to himself, letting panic seep away and a queer calm, almost foreboding, wash over instead.<br>The movement came again and he fired reflexively, a strangled cry told him he'd hit his target and he narrowed his eyes, ducking defensively in case there were more of them to return fire. No…apparently not.

Then a shout, a vicious one, in a language that was not English came from behind him and the youth twisted onto his back and rolled away, and not a moment too soon. Bullets rained and splattered the dirt where his head had been a moment ago.

The twin swore and barely had time to struggle to his feet when he saw his attacker, gun raised and ready to fire again. Barely aware of what he was doing, George did the first thing that sprung to mind. He leapt at the German, tackling him down, gun forgotten and bouncing away.

A loose, unintentional stream of fire let slip into the air and George threw his weight onto the man's arms, trying to wrench or knock the weapon from his hands. After a brief struggle it worked, George tasted blood as the butt of the weapon struck his jaw and sailed ten feet away.  
>He met his enemy's eye warily and caught his gaze flicking instinctively back to his fallen gun. As one they both moved, the German toward his gin and George taking a leap toward him to keep him off it.<p>

If he could just reach his knife…it was right there at his side…but the German had a firm grip on his right wrist and he needed the other hand to keep him relatively at bay. He managed a smooth punch to the other man's gut, and got a good look at his face, scarred and ugly. He looked at least forty but it was his eyes that scared George. So cold, and grey and…just empty. Unfortunately he was distracted for the briefest of moments, but that was all that the German needed.

A strangled cry escaped the Englishman's lips and a heavy booted foot struck his gut, thankfully he felt no ribs crack but he'd lost the upperhand, if he'd ever had it in the first place. George dropped to the ground winded but not wounded and the bigger soldier made another leap for the gun lying behind George. Desperately, knowing that if the German got that gun that was the end of George, the youth kicked out with his foot and sent the weapon skittering an extra foot away. It was enough and George let out a loud yell and threw his arms around the man's waist.

"Get off!" A thick accent shouted and then everything slowed down for George. It took a matter of seconds in reality but it felt like an age. His senses heightened and he saw everything.  
>The teenager saw the knife, saw the German's hand tugging it from his boot , caught the gleam of the blade and then everything went eerily silent. And he felt an overwhelming surge of panic that nearly floored him, but still he didn't let go of his hold on the German, still determined, even as the blade came slashing down. And then he was screaming and felt nothing but pain, saw nothing but red, and dimming colours.<p>

Someone else roared, and a burst of gunfire came randomly from an unseen soldier and George's grip loosened and he hit the ground, mouth open in a constant scream, he couldn't stop…but then, he did. And the last thing he saw before black was his attacker crumpling lifelessly to the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Eleven**

_The road is long  
>With many a winding turn<br>That leads us to who knows where  
>Who knows when<br>But I'm strong  
>Strong enough to carry him<br>He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

_**He Ain't Heavy, He's my Brother- The Hollies**_

Remus' heart thundered loudly in his chest, he'd lost George, a mine blast still ringing in his ears that had separated them. Not that it was unlikely, more often than not pairs found themselves split or lost. It was war, these things happened. Still, he was a comrade and Remus always felt it his responsibility to look out for his comrades, ones he'd been assigned to protect especially. A scream, a lone scream Remus followed instinctively, it may be a German, it may be a Brit, but it was a soldier nonetheless. Dying probably.  
>He saw the blood first, and then the German standing above a man screaming on the ground, the knife glinted in the dull light there was, and as it swung down for the second time, Mooney fired. A barrage of bullets tore from his gun and pelted the enemy who was dead before he hit the ground. The screaming dulled slowly and then stopped completely, Remus' heart was in his throat, he'd been so close, could have saved this man's life had been a moment earlier.<p>

It was then he saw the mess of ginger hair, and as the man on the ground stopped writhing in pain, losing consciousness, his face came into view. It was the young man, the comrade he'd thought he'd lost.  
>"Shit!" Remus swore, his boots skidding on the dust as he jumped from the small ledge, kicking aside the body of the German and staining his own fingers in the blood of both men mixed in the dirt. The boy's eyes were closed and the left side of his head was dark with blood that spilled from the place where his ear should be…but he was breathing nonetheless, albeit shallowly. Remus felt bile rise in his throat, he had to save the lad, return the favour, he had saved the captain's life after all. But that was the least of the reasons. He braced his right hand on the ground, looping his arm around the boy, his right hand brushed something and he looked down to see what it was. He shouted and half dragged himself and George the other way, fighting the urge to vomit. It was the missing ear…<p>

xxxXxxx

Everything was dark, and yet, he still felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness, at least that meant he wasn't dead…right? He heard gunfire, swearing, and someone was half carrying him, half dragging him somewhere, it hurt, couldn't they just leave him? More than once his knee or ankle connected with something and sent a jabbing pain through his leg that didn't compare at all to the pain in his head. Someone shouted something, someone very close yet far away. His left side was buzzing through the pain and-he blacked out again.

He awoke to screaming, whether it was his or not he wasn't sure. He was breathing sharply, and a fresh wave of dizziness threatened to knock him out again. His leg burned unpleasantly but mercifully the pain in his head had dulled. He couldn't see straight and he had no idea where he was.  
>Someone far away was calling his name, but he couldn't tell who, or where.<p>

"Georgie?"

There it was again, louder this time but barely, and then the man was fully awake, it wasn't his screams, but he was surrounded by them. Men were screaming, sobbing with pain and he felt his heart break. He was in one of the field hospitals, lying on a thin cot that was barely more comfortable than the ground in the trenches. There was something around his leg, his trousers had been rolled up and he was bleeding lightly. The burning had been a bullet that barely grazed his leg. He tried to roll to his right, to find whoever it was calling to him but no one he knew was there, only some poor sap who had lost a finger and half his shoulder.

George tried to roll left, and screamed loudly, it stung, it burned, it hurt in every way he could imagine and his blue eyes clenched closed.

xxxXxxx

The elder twin whimpered, tears threatening to fall, George wasn't moving, and blood was still pouring steadily from the side of his head. And then his eyes snapped open, staring straight above him, thoroughly confused. Fred dipped his head, trying to control the tears that stung, now of relief. His brother was alive, and he called to him, tried to get his attention.  
>His hearing had gone apparently. On his left, his ear was missing, and his hearing had been badly damaged as a result of that. George couldn't hear, until he turned to his left, and screamed as he lay on the bad side of his head.<p>

Fred wanted to scream too, and he did cry out, it killed him to see his twin brother in so much pain. It had been hours, hours of nothing, and now this. Suddenly George's eyes opened again and he saw Fred, his eyes were swimming and a few tears of pain leaked out. Fred breathed out a shuddering breath and pulled George up gently to sit, taking all weight off his injured side.

Slowly his brother's screams subsided and slipped into gasps. The bandage around his head stained anew, and he managed to meet Fred's anxious gaze.

"How are you feeling, Georgie?"

George swallowed thickly, the pain subsiding slowly and managing to ignore the dizzy rush that ran to his head as a result of blood loss when unmistakeably Fred pulled him up. His left hand lifted and he met Fred's eyes, swimming with completely different tears.  
>He was still confused, what had happened, why did he hurt so much and why could he feel blood down his head? The wounded brother grasped uncoordinatedly at the left side of his head, grabbing for his ear and met a bandage instead….it was gone. Well…that at least explained why he couldn't hear on his left side properly.<p>

He replied before he'd fully comprehended the question. "Saint-like…"

Fred watched, devastated while his brother groped for the ear he hadn't realised was missing. He had no idea how George felt, for one of the few times in their seventeen years and he didn't like it. He hated not being able to identify with his twin, hated not being able to help him…and then George answered, a half dazed look on his face.  
>What? Saint-like? What was wrong with him? Was his mind affected? What if George didn't recognise him?<br>Fred was panicked, bordering completely freaking out, what would he do without George if his own twin brother didn't know him anymore?

"Come again?" He chanced, trying not to show George how terrified he was.

But George saw it, he saw Fred's terror at his reply, saw it in the corners of his eyes and the slight tremble in his jaw and it actually made George snicker slightly to himself.  
>"Saint-like…you see…" he gestured to the new hole in his head he knew lay behind that soaked bandage. "I'm holey, Fred…get it?" It was dark humour, but any attempt to lighten the situation he knew Fred would appreciate, however gloomy and sick the humour might be.<p>

The elder twin, kneeling beside the cot blinked twice and shook his head slowly, a grin stretching over his face. George was making a joke…a bad one, but a joke, and Fred felt relief seep through and overcome the panic. He was his normal self, just…lopsided.

"You're pathetic… 'I'm holey'? Really, George? The whole world of ear related humour and you go for that?"

In a flash George remembered it all, he remembered the German's knife and he remembered the pain as he'd brought it down onto the left side of his head. Had it been Fred who'd found him then? He wasn't sure of that…

"Who…brought me here?"

Fred remembered it too, he remembered the sight of Mooney with an unmistakeable ginger figure slumped half over his shoulders, and blood covering both of them. It had been enough to nearly make him kill their own men in the rush to get to them. He remembered seeing George and the ghastly hole in the side of his head and helping the captain carry him up here. He hadn't been heavy, despite the nearly dead weight, George wasn't a burden. To Fred, George wasn't heavy, he was his brother.

"Mooney…"

xxxXxxx

"Out of the way…I said MOVE IT that's my brother!"

Charlie Weasley was furious, he still had a bullet wedged somewhere in his upper arm and was bleeding profusely through a tight bandage, but he'd seen two familiar mops of red hair that he knew belonged to his twin brothers. One with a tight bandage around his head, he wasn't sure which but after this he had a feeling he'd always be able to tell them apart.

"Oh my God…."

Fred looked up over George's shoulder, Charlie was coming, he had obviously seen them and George's bandage and was now pushing his way through the trench over the wounded bodies of other soldiers toward them. George obviously couldn't hear the shouts, they were all on his left and he hadn't looked up to Charlie.

Everything still buzzed and hummed dully on his left side, great…just what he wanted…along with the persistent pain, he'd lost hearing in his left…non-existent ear. Half deaf….he felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped, it was just Charlie. George hadn't even noticed him, he'd probably been shouting too.

"My God…" Charlie crouched beside the wounded twin "Fred, I mean…George…whoever you are …what happened?" The ear was missing, the bandage was too flat and the bleeding was too profuse for it to be anything else.

"George…" Both twins replied in unison, still smiling and Charlie wondered how they could. He caught Fred raising an eyebrow at his arm, and shrugged.

"You know me…accident prone…"

George smirked, his smile he'd held before slipping slightly, Charlie usually smiled too…but now he wasn't. He was furious, and in this state he was liable to throw himself in the front line to avenge his brother's ear.  
>"I'm fine…it's okay, just…half deaf…"<p>

"And holey." Fred added with his twin in unison. "Besides…how many times have you been shot?"

The three brothers fell into silence, George was consciously aware of an extra pair of blue eyes on him, as though afraid he would fall into pieces at any moment. He wasn't that fragile, so he'd been hurt…it was a war that's what happened. He could grow used to Fred looking at him like that, he'd have to, but Charlie too?  
>Finally after several minutes he swilled the water around in his flask and took a drink, glaring at each of them in turn over the rim.<br>"Look, I'm okay. I'm not dead, I'm not dying, can you both leave off?" He snapped, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

Charlie glanced over at Fred who was glaring right back at his twin before meeting the eyes of his elder brother. The twenty-three year old ran a hand through his dusty and growing hair and shook his head slightly, raising his own flask containing very limited rum and barely restraining himself from downing the lot.

The awkward silence resumed itself, and George again broke it, both of his brothers averting his gaze entirely.  
>"You need a shave…"<p>

xxxXxxx

It physically pained Fred to watch George twitch in his sleep, the pain was ever present and probably wouldn't leave for a good while. Every so often the older twin slipped out a hand and tilted George's head back to the right before he could lie on his wounded side. It would do him no good to wake up, he needed more sleep than Fred did. One thing was for certain…Fred would make sure they weren't split again.

Fred never moved much during the nights, not consciously anyway, just curled his knees up to his chest and leaned back against the wall, occasionally using George's shoulder as a pillow or vice versa.

How much longer would this last? How much longer would they have to be here never knowing if they'd live through the next day? He just wanted to go home. Back to England, away from the stupid war. Back to the pranks they pulled and cricket games with their mates.

Cedric was dead, had been for a while now, and Oliver neither Fred nor George had seen for some time. It had been almost two weeks since George had lost his ear…and yet the war showed no more signs of coming to a close. There seemed far less soldiers alive each day now, the numbers decreasing along with the rations and weapons.

George snored loudly and Fred felt a weight that was his brother's head drop onto his arm. He glanced briefly down at George and then resumed his slow staring around at the emptying trench.

The elder twin, trying so desperately to be strong, let himself go during the nights. When George couldn't see him. When he was allowed to cry…he did. Silently, never waking his brother or anyone else, he let the tears fall.

They'd seen more people they knew fall…Mooney had been shot and though not initially fatally, it certainly had been serious. Neither twin would ever forget the day they'd seen Harry's father shot in the chest…he hadn't died immediately, enough time for Padfoot and Mooney, who were apparently best friends with Prongs, to carry him choking back into the trenches.  
>He'd died then…and Fred hadn't been able to help noticing the photograph tucked in his pocket….his wife and son…<p>

Padfoot was a terrifying sight that day. Both twins had thought him, like James Potter, to be almost happy go lucky all the time, willing for a joke, or to flirt with a nurse at any moment. He'd flown into a frenzy the moment Potter drew his last breath. And Mooney too….usually so calm, had run out with Padfoot…no…his name was Sirius Black…run out with him blindly. Guns blazing…  
>Sirius was cut down with several bullets in the chest and died before he hit the ground and Mooney, Remus Lupin, who had left a pregnant wife home in England, was shot in the stomach.<p>

They heard he had succumbed to the wound a few days later and Fred remembered how torn George in particular had been. Three best friends all dead in less than three days.

Fred cried silently, but continuously, the tears not showing any sign of stopping. He cried for Cedric Diggory, for Miles Baker, for Remus, Sirius and James….he cried for England, he cried for his family back home and he cried for George, blissfully asleep beside him.

xxxXxxx

_If I die young,  
>Bury me in satin,<br>Lay me down on a bed of roses,  
>Sink me in the river, at dawn,<br>Send me away with the words of a love song…._  
><em><strong>If I Die Young- The Band Perry<strong>_


	12. Chapter 12

******I know**, **I'm sorry! I swear, I'm so, so sorry that I haven't updated this for ages, there isn't really a good enough excuse, but here.**

**From Boys to Men**

**Chapter Twelve**

It was a tense silence, a tense, uneasy silence and barely a word of chatter along the length of the trench. There were so few left, people were being murdered left, right and centre, and the crippled, the wounded and the maimed beyond their usefulness were steadily being shipped home to England.  
>The atmosphere was vastly different to what it had once been when they arrived. No more were the few men and boys left keen to fight, eager for adventure and thrilled to hold guns. Now it was sombre, and no one truly believed that they would outlast the war, or the Germans. Though citizens and families back in England may view the "cause" their soldiers were fighting for through rose coloured glasses, it was far from rosy and charming to the men who fought and died for King and country. It was bloody and gruesome and in all senses of the word, pointless. What were they even fighting for? No one seemed to know anymore. It was all glamoured up, how brave a man would be to fight and how loyal…it was laughable…had those people even SEEN what war was truly like? Maybe if they had, if they'd been out here on the front line fighting, they'd see it differently.<p>

"You should go…"

George broke out of his thoughts, turning considerably bitterer as they progressed and stared at Fred who leaned across the trench from him. His face was hollow and empty and the usual light that had always been present at home, had gone completely from his eyes. His skin was covered in dust and dirt, much like George's must have looked. They were hardly recognisable anymore.  
>Go? Was Fred seriously telling him to go or was George not hearing him properly? George was able to leave, being half deaf and frequently dizzy, he could leave and go home to England on the next ship.<br>But there was no chance he was leaving his twin here, in this hell, without him.

"You know the answer, Fred."

For a moment something flickered in his brother's eyes. They lost their dead glazed look in favour for what George was sure was fear. His twin wasn't even looking at him, he was watching the wall beside George's head, or maybe he was focussing on the hole where an ear should be.

"Please….you can go, just go." It was definitely fear, in his voice now, not just his eyes.

But what if Fred got hurt too? George would never forgive himself if he just turned around and went home. He would stay and fight, and Fred had no say in that.

Groaning, he lifted his left hand to the side of his head, trying to stop the incessant ringing. The pain hadn't really stopped since he took the wound, however long it had been…George lost track. There was a constant, dull throbbing there, occasionally stinging sharply when he lay on it accidentally.  
>It did affect the twin's aim too, it was more difficult to shoot now, not that he was the straightest shooter to begin with. Each time he pulled the trigger, he would jolt to the left reflexively, and clap a hand to his ear. The roar of bullets and bombs dulled significantly into almost indistinguishable sounds that all ran into one on his left side.<p>

"We're not talking about it. I ain't leaving you here."

Without another word, George closed his eyes and turned his deaf side to Fred, he wouldn't listen to any more from his twin. It was too much….there was no light left in the twins. Barely any hope left at all in any of the soldiers. The only thing anyone clung onto now was their guns, or their helmets, or the little bit of life they had left.

The lump in Fred's throat was nearly constricting all air going to and from his lungs. He watched his brother sadly across the trench, he had turned his head to show the messed up flesh. The conversation was over. He just wanted his twin to be safe….to know at least one of his brothers would make it home.

xxxXxxx

Britain and France were pitifully losing this battle…with no clue how the rest of the war was faring across the world. For every step the allies took, the Germans took five more….any brave leap an Englishman made, they would land on a mine. Those that were left just tried to survive in the mad, hellish world of blood, death and fire as the corpses piled higher. They weren't fighting to win….they just fought to live.

Or for sanity…the war drove soldiers insane. Fred and George had born witness to it many times. The most horrible was watching an Englishman howl as though he thought he was a wolf and leap at the throat of a nurse, killing her and being shot by his fellow troops. Or watching a man by the name of Riddle turn and shoot the men he was with, nearly causing George to lose his other ear.

A term had risen among the soldiers for those that suffered that insanity. They called them death eaters.

There were showers of bullets and rains of shells could not be avoided. Ambushes could not be avoided. On more than one memorable occasion the Germans had stormed the trench or hiding place that the twins had taken refuge, leaving the boys more than lucky to escape with their lives.  
>The colour of the world was changing….red and black. Red, the colour of blood, of anger…the blood of angry men and black, the horrible darkness that nobody could see a light from, the colour of despair.<p>

Amongst the hopelessness, there was a glimmer of…not happiness…but something. There had been one letter from home that had made it to the twins. It was only short but they hadn't written back, couldn't bear to tell them any of the horror, and couldn't bear to lie about it.

_Our dear boys,_

_We all miss you so much. It's not the same at all anymore, nobody smiles without you to make them.  
>To say we're worried would be a dreadful understatement. Just come home, our dears, and bring your brothers with you. Don't you let Charlie be shot anymore and keep Bill from scarring his face.<em>

You are alright, aren't you? Both of you? We know you would never let each other be hurt, but all the same…

_Your sister has taken a fancy to Ronald's friend, Harry, the boy with the glasses and the messy hair. We heard his father is fighting with you now. Something that we're sure you will tease her about.  
>Percy's worried sick about you all too; of course he is, though he doesn't like to say it.<em>

_This letter had better find you well and alive in case the others haven't made it to France._

_Come home, darlings._

_Mum and Dad_

Fred and George took it in turns to carry the letter with them, always safe under their jackets, folded tightly inside their pockets. Each tear stain and smudged sentence, treasured. Crying was no longer a shame, it wasn't uncommon for one to wake and find the other silently crying, and tears making silver streaks down their dirt covered cheeks. When they did sleep that is. Never at once, one twin always stayed awake, keeping watch, ready to move, although every soldier had grown accustomed to waking at the slightest noise, from a stone being kicked to grenades going off.

xxxXxxx

They were separate again, a grenade that had blown up their trench, sending one twin to each side, forced to run and unable to spot the other. The familiar fear that had set up permanent camp in Fred's stomach had long since began to stir and was raging now as he crouched behind an overturned tank to reload his rifle. He was almost completely unperturbed by the sound of shells raining against the metal, it was almost as common as rain pattering against a glad window.

He gritted his teeth. George was alright, surely Fred would be able to tell if something had happened? They were identical twins. George would be okay, they'd find each other.

George was half deaf…he was unbalanced at the best of times…no. Stop that, Fred. He'd be okay.

With a roar, Fred twisted, firing blindly just over the long barrel of the tank and running when they commenced fire back. He dropped, intending to make it look like they'd hit him, if they were firing at him at all. A bullet ripped through his shoulder and he let out a yelp as it drew blood. Yes, they were definitely firing at him. It was a tactic he used often, fall and play possum, pretend to be hit.

Crawling on his belly, the older twin dragged himself to what he presumed to be the safety of a crater left by a mine that had gone off long ago and rolled heavily inside. Corpses met him, but that wasn't exactly unusual, or unavoidable. One couldn't go further than half a foot without encountering a body, or a piece of one.

Fred would wait here, drawing himself up into a sitting position to rest his weapon beside him and inspect the wound in his left shoulder. It wasn't deep, barely grazed the skin, but it had and just enough to draw blood. He hissed in pain and pressed down with his right hand, it would stop soon enough, just a little pressure, he'd been very lucky.  
>Instinctively his hand dropped down to pat at his chest, making sure the letter was still safely tucked away.<p>

xxxXxxx

George had gotten away, found himself a small alcove safe from bullets and had set to work on the project he'd been attempting when Fred slept. It was potentially suicidal, but they both had a knack for dangerous inventions. He was attempting to turn a grenade into a smoke bomb of sorts. Just for a quick getaway if needed, and as it was frequently needed….if this worked it could prove very useful.

He was confident Fred was alright, he was always alright. They were identical twins, he'd know if he needed to find Fred soon.

Not willing to test it and kill himself, George hooked the grenade onto his belt, making a mental note to remember that it was the left one. He'd gotten hold of another earlier. Best not mix them up.  
>With a calming breath, George slipped out, blinking away a bout of dizziness that and straining to hear out of his one ear. There was a sick feeling rising in his stomach that had little to do with how empty it was at the moment.<p>

That way….he'd seen Fred get away in that direction right? Past one of the upturned tanks? He had to try.

He saw the tank, saw the crater beyond. He felt the groan beneath his feet tremble, felt his head hit the ground as he stumbled. He heard the explosion, heard the very muffled screams from the crater.

What neither twin saw was the grenade flying over both their heads, without a pin.

xxxXxxx

George was sprinting, not caring about the bullets, his heart pounding in his ears. Don't let Fred be there….oh please…don't let Fred be there…

The half deaf twin stopped on the edge of the explosion's site, hardly bringing himself to look down into it, his right ear was still ringing, but it didn't disguise the cries that he knew….  
>Swallowing his fear, George opened his blue eyes….when had he closed them? The grenade…he saw what it had done, and he wished he were dead. He knew there were worse things than dying…and this was one of them. He dropped to his knees, unable to help retching drying as his stomach had nothing to throw up.<p>

Pain….so much pain…that was definitely his blood. Why wasn't he dead? He should be dead…he couldn't see anything….there it was…red. More blood? No…red hair…that was hair. No…don't touch me, he wanted to say, it hurts….put me down.

"Oh god! Speak, please….please open your eyes! Dammit, Fred!"

Right…eyes…that was why he couldn't see…but it hurt…

Fred was breathing. He was alive….George was screaming now, holding his twin and shaking him, pleading with him to open his eyes. The colour of his brother's face was barely distinguishable from that of their hair. He looked like it hadn't been the explosion, but the great rock that now lay beside Fred, splattered with his blood.

The blue eyes opened….or one did, the other didn't look like it ever could open again, and George couldn't help the tears streaming freely down his face.  
>"Don't you dare….don't you dare die..."<p>

Fred was straining to keep that eye open, just enough to blurrily see George…George was here. That made it better, a little….relieved some of the pain.

"It hurts…I…put me down. It hurts."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but even with George's impaired hearing, he heard it and slowly, very, very gently put his brother down. Not caring about the amount of blood that now covered him. Was there any part of Fred that wasn't bloody?

"Please…"

Fred let out a loud cry, throwing his head back and unable to stop the blood trickling out of his mouth. He was terrified…he didn't want to die. He couldn't die, he couldn't go, couldn't leave George, their brothers, their parents, their family…no.

"Don't make me…G-George…don't make me...I don't wanna…"

"You're not…you won't, I'm gonna get you help…" Even if he did live…Fred would probably never be the same now. But George wouldn't think of that. He had one thought, one only, to keep his twin alive.

"Go home, Georgie….go… you gotta…" He didn't want to die, but if George stayed here….George had to go home. Now. "Please…gotta live, you gotta live…" He winced again as his twin lifted his shoulders again, holding him, rocking on his knees.  
>He felt a few drops against his skin…George was crying, he wasn't ever going to stop. No…the pain was too much.<p>

"Don't….cry…"

The breathing stopped. Blue eyes lost all life. The body went limp.

No…

xxxXxxx

**You understand why I was so reluctant to post this? I'm sorry! There will be an epilouge, that I promise**


	13. Epilogue

**From Boys to Men**

**Epilogue**

_Screaming, kicking, thrashing, guns forgotten on the ground, pleading, crying. Nothing. Then there was just nothing. No sound, no ringing in his ear, no colours. The dull landscape had become even more so, and devoid of all meaningful life. A bleak, painful void._

More than once George had wondered what it would be like to throw himself off the deck and into the cold, dark and yet inviting waters below. How soon would the icy cold numb the pain? How soon would it take him away from the new, more terrible kind of hell he was forced to endure now?  
>Home…that was where they were going now. Well. England, anyway.<br>Across the ship, close together, were Bill and Charlie. Their eyes equally wet and faces equally grief-stricken. Charlie, usually upbeat and brave, was still crying silently, his arm in a sling and tears falling slowly down his freckled cheeks. Bill was watching George who was sitting limply against a crate, a blanket that was supposed to offer a little warmth and comfort draped loosely over his heavy shoulders. Like his brothers, his eyes were sunken and devoid of light and he too, like them, looked older. But unlike William and Charles, George had no desire to go home, he had no hope left in any bone in his body. Nowhere was there room for comfort in his mind.

He couldn't even close his eyes without seeing it all again. The blood, the ruined face, the glassy eye and the shuddering as Fred's last breath left him. He would never forget clinging to his twin's dead corpse and screaming as someone tried to pull him away from him and then hours later being told they were going home on the next ship in a few days.  
>He hadn't slept, couldn't bear to, and probably wouldn't for a long while.<p>

Almost blankly he let his eyes drop from the railing of the ship, pulling out of his blissful thoughts of being with Fred again and met Bill's eyes for a moment. He wished he hadn't. No sooner had they made eye contact then Bill was up and coming over to him, wrapping a long arm around his little brother.  
>Unwillingly the sobs returned, frantic, painful and short, wracking George's whole body as he dropped his head onto his brother's shoulder.<p>

At the same moment Charlie had broken into sobs again, drawing his knees up, cradling his wounded arm between his legs and stomach, forehead dropping forward onto his knees and good hand gripping desperately at his unkempt hair. He had made a promise to himself and to his family that he would keep the twins as safe as he could, prevent any serious damage. In some ways losing one was worse than losing both would be. If both had died instead of only one then the other wouldn't feel the pain. Wouldn't have to live with looking like the other and losing half of himself. Wouldn't the pain be lessened?  
>He had failed. He'd failed their family, he'd failed himself, he'd failed Fred and especially failed George.<p>

It took every ounce of Bill's being not to start shaking and sobbing along with his brothers. But George at least needed someone to be strong for him, at least stronger. A shoulder to cry into which he was finally making full use of.  
>Unwittingly, the oldest son's mind drifted back to first finding out. Fred hadn't even looked the slightest bit like he had in life when he saw the body. His face was more blood than skin, the eyes closed looked as though even if he had survived, it would never have opened again.<br>That was when Bill had broken. He had collapsed against the wall of the trench as his legs gave out and refused to hold his weight. A strangled cry of horror that could barely be considered human had fallen from his lips and he had fought not to faint as he dissolved into sobs.  
>There it was again, falling from his mouth now as he supported George, blue eyes focussed on the sky above as he tried to hold in the tears.<p>

Just one jump. That's all it would take. Just one jump to end the pain, to be with Fred again in another life if one existed. One jump, one splash, take no breath.  
>George didn't even realise what was happening when he had one foot on the edge of the ship, hands on the railing. All thoughts had been driven from his mind, all awareness of what he was doing gone until the frantic voices and footsteps broke him from his suicidal urges.<br>Charlie was swearing and on his feet, Bill beside him again as two other men pulled him back from the brink of jumping into the ocean and onto the deck again. He landed heavily on his side, the bad side of his head hitting the deck with some force as he wrenched himself out of their grip. Groaning and whimpering, he curled in on himself, trembling as his heart beat frantically in his chest and a dominant part of him was still yearning to jump.

x

There was no parade now. There was no music or cheering as the ship pulled into the quay and the gangplank was lowered. Nobody cheered, they just stood and stared as once brave, eager soldiers slowly returned home. Some were legless, one was armless, and some missed single limbs or hands. The way that almost everyone, older men, women and children turned their faces away from the sight was a moment that not one of the weary, war-torn and prematurely aged men would ever forget. Wives, children…families torn apart were pushing their way through the crowd as they saw their loved ones. Or worse…didn't see their loved ones return. George recognised Remus Lupin's wife, a small bundle of blankets in her arms as she searched desperately for her husband who he knew was not coming for her.

George's eyes rested on Angelina in the crowd, she was there, probably waiting for Fred. Her dark eyes lit up when she saw George and he shook his head firmly to say he was not his brother.

A scream, long manes of red hair and Molly Weasley was upon her sons, kissing every inch of their faces she could reach, analysing Bill's scarred face and Charlie's sling. Ginny was there following her mother's example. Ronald and Arthur beaming and hugging. But it was Percy who first noticed George standing a ways back. Alone.  
>"George?" At first George couldn't tell if he was looking at the torn side of his head or the fact he was alone. Both were likely.<p>

Slowly the sobs of joy and sighs of happiness died down as everyone turned to him. Arthur finally noticing the look in Bill's face that was mirrored in Charlie's and accentuated in George's.  
>"Georgie, dear?"<p>

He took too steps back as she stepped forward, her husband beside her, reaching for their son.  
>"Darling? Where's Fred?"<p>

No answer was necessary. George's face. There was no light there, only heartbreak. There was no Fred beside him.

Ginny was the first to sob, pushing forward and running to hug her brother, tears streaming as Molly sank to her knees on the ground, sobbing as they slowly realised.

x

On the other side of the docks, still near the ship, a woman with a newborn baby named Teddy still waited for her husband. An older woman with red hair and her son with messy black hair waited with her. Both women knew they would never stop waiting.

* * *

><p><strong>I know! I'm sorry I said it wouldn't take this long and I'm sorry it ended that way (please spare my life). It killed me to write this, but the good news is that in a month my exams will be over and I'll be finished school and have more time for writing (hopefully). I'm open for suggestions, in fact I'd love them. Thanks for reading!<strong>


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